


Blank Space

by Zoe13



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anorexia, Anxiety, Boarding School, Bulimia, Eating Disorder, F/M, M/M, Mentions of past rape/non con, Panic Attacks, Self Harm, Some Child Abuse, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, This has nothing to do with the song btw, for real, lots of spoiled rich kids, soulmate fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-18
Updated: 2017-04-06
Packaged: 2018-08-23 03:29:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8312260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoe13/pseuds/Zoe13
Summary: Devon Fortescue is a Blank in a world of soulmates and predestined love, a secret disgrace to his wealthy family. After a scandal at Kingsley Highschool, he finds himself at Marianas High, where he is befriended by some surprising students. In a school full of wealthy, image obsessed teenagers, how can an insecure, scorned boy find his way through betrayal, his own dark thoughts, threats, and love?





	1. Marianas High

**Author's Note:**

> Hello readers! I'm not expecting much exposure for this story as it is an original work and won't catch the attention of fandoms, but I hope you all enjoy it nonetheless. I love love love your feedback and even story/plot suggestions, so please feel free to let me know what you think!

Most people remember their thirteenth birthday because it was when they first felt grown up, or cool, or because they got that really awesome present that they’ve wanted all year.  
They don’t generally remember many details except that it was pleasant. But Devon- he remembers his thirteenth birthday very well, because that’s the day his parents stopped loving him.

The reason why started years ago- years before he was born, before his parents were born, before _their_ parents were born. He’s never had the heart to do enough research to learn when it began, but he knows this much: at thirteen, the outline of a heart appears on a person’s wrist, except for a select few who never get them, called ‘Blanks’. Those with the heart have a specific soulmate somewhere in the world, and when they meet, their hearts will glow. But for the Blanks, they have to find their own way, choose to stay alone or attempt to marry someone with or without a heart and hope it works out. And on his thirteenth birthday, Devon discovered that he was a Blank.

 

 

 

  
The boy in the mirror doesn’t look angry, he just looks tired. His mother used to love his green eyes, but now they’re dull and heavily underlined. It’s only not noticeable because it’s practically permanent. He splashes water on his face in hopes that he can bring some color to it, but it never works, and he turns off the faucet and dries his skin before pulling on his white button down. Next comes the blue and gold striped tie of Marianas High, and after that, the navy blazer. He tries to comb down his thick auburn hair, but it won’t stay, and he just sighs and lets it be.

  
He used to get freckles. He’d play outdoors with his dad, either pitching back and forth or riding horses, but he’s never outside anymore. Once he got shipped off to boarding school in disgrace, all the outdoors did was remind him of before his thirteenth birthday, and it still makes his chest ache five years later. He’s pretty sure they introduce Brandon as the eldest child at parties now, and he can’t even be angry. After all, when Brandon’s thirteenth birthday came three years ago, the heart appeared on his wrist. His parents were so happy, they treated even Devon with civility at Christmas when he visited for the holidays. It was short-lived, though, as always. Then came the scandal at Kingsley Highschool. People found out, and....he doesn’t like to think about that.  
Here at the new boarding school, people won’t know about it. A significantly larger portion of the population have the heart, and ‘Blanks’ are rare enough that people assume everyone they meet has one. Devon tries to keep it that way, and the uniform of Marianas High will make it fairly easy. At least that’s the hope.  
He hasn’t met his roommate yet as he only arrived last night, his dad helping him haul his bags in and then leaving without a word. There were things already set up on the other side, but he fell asleep early and they must have shown up and gone to bed without him noticing. Whoever it is, they're still asleep now. Devon doesn't need to be up for breakfast until seven, but he woke up early and couldn't fall asleep again. This way he has time to explore before he's thrown into the swing of things.  
It’s six o'clock on the dot when he softly exits the room and goes out into the hall. It’s dimly lit and quiet, and he takes some time to notice all of the details he missed the night before. The walls are a dark paneled wood and the carpet is a navy blue that looks too soft for any carpet to be. The moulding is, of course, gold to complement the blue. He feels as if he blends in with his navy uniform, white shirt, and navy and gold tie. The navy is so deep it just about blends into his black shoes. It almost feels nice to be blending in because he’s never stood out in a good way, but he feels small and invisible as well. It’s deathly quiet, which he’s used to, and he doesn’t make a sound as he heads down the hallway to the stairs.

  
Marianas is even bigger than Kingsley was, and the staircase in the dorm is enormous. It’s the same dark wood as the walls, and it sprawls wider at the bottom, the rails curling outward. The dorm is several stories high and Devon’s room is on the fourth, so it takes a bit to get to the front room. It can hardly be called a room, he thinks, as he takes in the marble floor and pillars, the expensive looking curtains with gold tassels, and the thick rugs. It feels strange to have people as primitive as highschoolers reside in such a grandiose building, but such is the way of the wealthy. Sometimes the rich kids are the most rude and simple-minded.

He pushes through the door and stops on the steps, taking in the grounds of the school. There are multiple dorms, either exclusively boys or exclusively girls, and it’s large enough to be a college. Thankfully he’s brought his books, so he’ll have time to find his way around before class. He’s got a map with him, and he finds that his dorm is called Greyhound. It’s closer to the other buildings than the rest of the dorms, which he’s thankful for. It’ll be easier to go between classes and hiding in his room. He’s still nervous about meeting his roommate. 

The dining hall appears to be its own building, and as the only one-story on the grounds, it’s fairly easy to find. The main courses take place in one, extremely large building that faces all the rest, and extracurricular activities take place in a slightly smaller one. He glances over the different sports fields, his interest in those long gone. Nothing good comes of him trying out, and it just reminds him of his dad. There’s a small park within the grounds, and everything is beautifully well kept. He just hopes that there are less-frequented areas for him to study in if he can’t bear his roommate.

“Hey,” calls a voice behind him. “You a transfer?”

“Excuse me?” Devon asks, confused. He turns to find a girl staring up at him from the bottom of the outside steps, a hand on one hip. She’s strikingly pale with red lips and brown hair, and Devon finds her beautiful in an artistic way. Not that it matters, she’s probably about to decide he’s not worth her time.

“Well, I don’t recognize you, but you’re standing outside the senior dorms looking confused,” she explains. Her eyes look like they’re laughing at him, but not unkindly, so he lets himself relax.

“Yeah, I’m a transfer,” he answers. “Trying to find my way around before everyone’s up so I’ll embarrass myself less.”

"Well, we don’t all bite,” she says. “C’mon, I can show you around.”

He hesitates briefly, but she seems nice in a brusk sort of way and he’s got nothing to lose, so he hurries down the steps and follows her.

“So seniors boys are the closest to the dining hall,” she starts, and he nods.

“I see that.”

“That’s the only important building anyway,” she jokes, heading toward the group of buildings with him on her heels. She’s tall and takes long strides, and he has to hurry a little to keep up even though he’s not exactly short himself. “I’m Ariadne Pentax, by the way.”

“Devon Fortescue,” he says, shaking her hand. She’s got a firm grip, and he’s embarrassed at his clammy hands. She doesn’t comment on it, though, and he tries to shrug it off.

“Fortescue...hm. I think my parents probably know yours,” she says. “Not many Fortescues in the upper class circles in America anymore, unless you’re from somewhere else.”

“No, I’m American,” he says. “Just extremely Irish on one side.”

She finds that funny for some reason, and it feels kind of good to make someone laugh. Things are sort of looking up already, and for a brief moment he wonders if he’ll be able to pull this off, blend in seamlessly and make a couple of friends.

“There’s a more detailed map in the main building,” she tells him. “Which is called Marianas Hall, by the way.”

"Okay,” he says, unsure of what else to say. They reach the building, and he feels quite intimidated.

“So what school are you from?” she asks as she opens the enormous front doors.

“Kingsley,” he says absently, staring at the room they enter. “Is everything this…”

“Over-the-top?” she asks. He nods, and she laughs again. “You bet. Kingsley’s a little smaller, Marianas is just like a joke. This is my third year here and I still can’t believe it. But you’ll find your way around after a bit, it’s fairly well set up at least.”

“Okay,” he says again, and she drags him over to the far wall. He sees the map she mentioned, and pulls out his phone to take a photo of it. It’s specifically for Marianas Hall, and it shows the classrooms on every floor.

“What classes are you in?” she asks. He hands her his schedule as he studies the map and finds that the lockers are around the corner.

“Damn,” she says, and he startles at the swear word. “We have almost the exact same schedule.”

“Oh,” he says, but it’s relieved. “Is that…”

“That’s good!” she cheers. “C’mon, don’t be like that. We’re gonna be friends.”

“O-Okay,” he says, and it seems to be all he can ever say. But a hopeful feeling blossoms inside him, and he smiles genuinely.

“I’ll introduce you to the gang,” she says. “It sucks, not having friends. Trust me, I understand. I was a transfer student too. But not everyone here sucks.”

“That’s good,” he says, unsure of what else to say. She doesn’t seem to mind, though, instead dragging him through the building and showing him the lockers and award hall. By the time they head to breakfast, he’s feeling much more confident.

 

 

 

  
The confidence quickly fades as they enter the dining hall to find complete chaos. He can pick out the cliques immediately. Fortunately, no one pays him any mind, and Ariadne grabs his hand again to drag him over to a specific table.

“Guys, this is Devon Fortescue, Devon, these are the guys.”  
He’s a little confused at that because they aren’t all guys, but he does a little awkward wave and sits down.

“Hey, I’m Wesley Keller,” the boy by him greets, reaching out a hand. Devon can’t help but notice that he’s extremely fit, with sea green eyes and blonde hair that’s shaved on the sides.

“Nice to meet you,” he says as he awkwardly shakes his hand.

“That’s Daya Miller,” Ariadne points out a short girl with dark skin and curly hair. She waves at Devon with a cheerful smile, and he likes her immediately. “Oh, and Vesper.” Ariadne rolls her eyes affectionately at the guy across from them, and he scoffs.

“Oh shut it, Pentax, you love me. I’m Jerome Vesper, welcome to Ariadne’s Orphanage.”

“What?” Devon stares blankly. He’s a little distracted by Jerome as well, with his tan skin, obvious freckles, and blonde curls that are currently tumbling down over his left eye.

“Ariadne’s Orphanage. That’s what we call this group,” Wesley explains. “She’s basically our mom here, and she brings in the strays.”

“You’re not strays!” Ariadne scolds him. “Might I remind you that you and Jerome could hang out at any table-”

“But they love us,” says another boy. He’s extremely tan, and it makes Devon feel like a ghost compared to him. “I’m Zander, by the way, Zander Martin.”  
The name sounds familiar to Devon, but he can’t quite place it.

“Martin? Oh! You’re my roommate.”

“Hey!” Zander stands up to try and high five him, and Devon awkwardly returns the high five. Daya laughs.

“There are a few others, but they’re missing,” Ariadne says. “Now why don’t you get some food?”

“I’m not really hungry,” he says. All eyes turn to Ariadne.

“Guess who doesn’t care?” she says, “now come on. I’ll go with you, but you can’t skip breakfast. It’s the most important meal of the day, and it gets your metabolism going. Besides, you’ll need the energy before the first day.”

He just follows her without another word, but no one else seems surprised by her bossiness. It’s not the annoying kind of bossy, but it seems a little strange for someone who only met him an hour ago. But it’s not like he really knows how friends work anyway. He’s just glad to have one.

 

 

 

  
'Ariadne’s Orphanage' accepts him without a moment’s hesitation. Wesley walks him to class because they both have trig first and Ariadne gets distracted by an argument with Jerome, and they’ve all agreed to have lunch together. Wesley seems fairly popular judging by the amount of people that stopped to talk to him on the way and once they reached the classroom, but he sits with Devon. Jerome and Ariadne got to class on time, but they’re sitting in the back still arguing about whatever came up. Ariadne’s fired up, but Jerome just laughs at her. Zander’s talking to a girl Devon hasn’t met yet, but Daya is apparently a junior, so she’s nowhere in sight.

“Avery, you lazy ass!” Zander calls as a shorter boy walks in. He’s wearing his uniform, but it’s got a haphazard look to it and his tie is slung around his neck but not tied. By the looks of it, he woke up at the very last second and threw everything on. His long brown hair is a tangled mess, but he just runs a hand through it and throws himself into the seat by Zander, giving him a bored look.

“Where were you?” Ariadne calls from the back.

“Where do you think?” Zander hoots. It seems to be a running joke, as Avery simply smiles lazily with his eyes still closed and Jerome and Wesley laugh.

“Better to sleep in than be out here with you lot,” Avery quips. Zander throws back something snarky, but then the room quiets down as the teacher shows up. He introduces himself as Mr. Hoffman, and then launches into the lesson, but Devon’s mind is elsewhere. He looks around the room and wonders just what he’s gotten himself into.

 

 

 

  
“Lunch!” cries Wesley as they burst out of the doors of Marianas Hall. They're swept along by a crowd, but he somehow keeps Devon on his feet. “You need some meat on your bones, bro, I could probably carry you with one hand.”

Devon flushes red and just nods. He’s always been one to stress off most of his weight, and he doesn’t really think about it that much. Jerome nearly plows into him in his excitement for lunch as well, though, so apparently that’s an oddity.

“Boys,” Ariadne laughs as they break out of the crowd and walk together. Daya comes sprinting up to them, backpack in her hand flying behind her.

“Lunch!” she yells, and Jerome and Wesley just cheer with her.

"Are they always like this?” Devon asks quietly.

“Always,” Zander rolls his eyes with a smug smile. “They can't sit still long.”

“So where are you from?” Ariadne asks Devon.

"New York,” he says. “We've got a house outside of the city on some property.”

“I'm across the country,” Zander says as they reach the dining hall. “Los Angeles.”

“Where did those idiots go?” Ariadne mutters, standing on her toes to try and spot Jerome, Daya, and Wesley. They're already in line and Ariadne pretends to be mad, but Devon knows better by now. They're an odd group, and he's just waiting for them to kick him out or tell him to make his own friends. But Zander just drags him over to get food, and pretty soon they're seated at a table again.

“So tell us a bit about yourself,” Wesley says. He's seated himself by Devon for the second time, which is weird but not unwelcome.

“Um…” Devon freezes up. He never speaks to other people for more than a minute, and he's certainly not been asked to just talk about himself. “I'm from New York, I transferred here from Kingsley, and I’m the oldest of three.”

“That's cool and all, but I mean about _you_ ,” Wesley says, shoveling some food in his mouth and then looking at Devon expectantly. They're all looking at him now.

“Oh. I, uh, I like music a lot?”

“Cool! Do you play anything?” Ariadne asks.

“Just piano,” Devon says awkwardly. Ariadne seems to sense his discomfort, and she takes over the conversation.

“I play a few myself. We should play together sometime. Jerome and I have music classes together.”

“I think I'm in one,” Devon says, sounding unsure for no reason. He mentally kicks himself. It’s overwhelming, right now, and there’s so much noise around him. Everyone at the table is looking at him, and he’s having a little trouble breathing. “I, uh, I gotta go-”

Then he’s up and out of the room, shooting straight for the doors and bursting outside onto the grounds. There's a bench nearby, and he collapses on it and puts his head between his knees, fighting to breathe. He's being stupid, he's acting like a freak and now they won't want to hang out with him. He's just ridiculous. Why does he ruin everything?

“Hey, hey, are you okay?” someone asks, and his sob catches in his throat. It's Wesley.

“I’m-” he struggles in a breath. “I'm fine, I'm sorry-”

“No, you're not fine. It's okay, don’t worry about it. Just breathe, okay? Can you do that? Breathe with me.” Wesley sits next to him, settling a comforting hand on his back and taking an exaggerated breath. Devon struggles to follow suit, and after a little while he manages to slow his breathing enough to calm down. He feels drained, and he sits up and collapses against the backrest of the bench. Wesley’s looking at him with concerned eyes, and Devon fights not to stare.

“I'm okay now,” he says. “I'm so sorry you had to see that.”

“Had to see it?” Wesley asks incredulously. “Hey, you're not an inconvenience, you know. I'm glad you didn't go through that by yourself. Mind if I ask if that happens often?”

“It depends.” Devon shrugs carelessly. He's too tired now to really overthink things. “Large crowds can get overwhelming. It’s worse when I'm alone.”

“Well good, there's a way I can help then,” Wesley says.

“Why-” Devon stops himself, then sighs.

“What?”

“I don't know. Why are you all being so nice to me?”

Wesley’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. “We're not being exceptionally nice, Dev.”

Devon flushes at the nickname but Wesley doesn't seem to notice. “No one ever just...accepts me like that.”

“Well, you’d best get used to it,” Wesley tells him, “cause you're stuck with us now. Ariadne’s thrown you in with the rest of us, now there's no escape.”

Devon finds himself laughing, and it feels good. Wesley just smiles at him like he can tell how rarely that happens.

“You're Zander’s roommate, right?” he asks.

“Yeah, I think so,” Devon says. “I mean, I haven't seen him in there yet, but that's the name they told me.” He's talking a lot for him, and he's not sure what to think of it.

“Well hey, I'm three doors down, same side. If you have any questions or wanna hang out, just drop by and see if I'm there,” Wesley offers. “I'm either there or the gym after school, so you'll probably find me there.”

“Oh, I- I appreciate it.” Devon stares at his hands and suddenly realizes he doesn't know what to do with them.

“Here, how's this,” Wesley says, pulling out his phone, “why don't you just give me your number, and you can shoot me a text if you need anything? Sound good?”

“Yeah, I-” Devon nods violently. “Okay.”

He puts his number in Wesley’s phone with shaking hands. Wesley just smiles at him, though, and Devon smiles back hesitatingly.

“There, now I've got yours and you can't pretend you lost it,” Wesley jokes, sliding his phone back into his pocket. “I'm gonna head back in, okay? You can come with me or take a few if you need to.”

“I'll come,” Devon says, standing up and brushing off the back of his pants. “Thanks for- for that.”

“Any time,” Wesley says, and Devon feels like he means it.  
Wesley sits with him for the next few classes and Devon finds himself walking around with a goofy smile on his face.

He gets a text right when physics lets out. 

Unknown number- _hey ;)_


	2. Starting Over

 “Yeah, I love you too.” Devon hits the ‘end call’ button and lets his phone drop carelessly from his fingers onto the floor. Zander doesn’t seem to notice the slight _thump_ as it hits the carpet, and Devon just sighs. His mother feels a little guilty about him every so often and tries to ‘catch up.’ All it does is remind him how little she cares when they have absolutely nothing to discuss and she knows absolutely nothing about him. 

“Dammit,” Zander whines from his bed. “Why wasn’t I born a genius?”

“You’re close enough,” Devon mumbles, his head pressed into his pillow. “At least you’re not the weird art kid.”

“You’re an artist?” Zander questions, seeming to be looking for any excuse to ignore his calculus homework.

“Sort of.” Devon wonders if he can maybe suffocate here. His bed is comfortable, it would be a good way to go. “I just do it for fun.”

“That’s awesome, man, I wish I was good at art.” Zander throws his textbook on the floor and flops in bed.

“It’s completely useless,” Devon tells him. “All it means is that I suck at school and sports so I put too much time into art to pretend I have a talent.”

“Oh.” Zander seems to be catching on to the whole ‘Devon is really morbid’ thing. “You know, if you enjoy it then I don’t think it’s really a bad thing. You’ve got to find something to enjoy about life or you’ll just float through it without noticing it’s even happening.” 

Devon doesn’t comment on the fact that that’s pretty much his life. “I’m gonna go for a walk,” he says instead, pushing himself up off of his bed. He pulls his tie loose and almost rolls up his sleeves before catching himself just in time. He doesn’t need Zander to see that his wrists are covered in scars instead of the outline of a heart. Zander just mumbles something to him from where he’s falling asleep on his bed, and Devon shuts the door behind him. 

Wesley’s just coming out of his room as Devon leaves his, and he waves to him. 

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Just going to get some fresh air,” Devon says, awkwardly pulling on his sleeves. He’s going to wear them down if he doesn’t stop, but he can’t help it. 

“Would you like some company?” Wesley asks him. 

Devon flushes. “Um, yeah, if you’d like to come along. I’ll be alright on my own, though, if you don’t want to.”

“Nonsense,” Wesley says with a smile, “I’d love to. Come on.”

He leads the way to the stairs, and Devon fights to hide his pink cheeks. Now is not the time. No, the time is never. Wesley’s probably got some nice girl somewhere with a perfect body and hair and manners and a matching heart outline. Devon’s just depressing damaged goods with no mark to show he’ll ever be loved.   

“So, who _is_ Devon?” Wesley says in a light tone as they walk. Devon’s confused, is  what he is.

“What?”

“Well, what makes you you?” Wesley asks. “What are the little random things that  separate you from everyone else?”

“Nothing, I guess,” Devon says, and he believes it, but Wesley doesn’t look convinced.

“There’s always something,” he says. “Favorite bands, favorite activities, favorite movies, talents, that sort of thing.”

“I don’t know,” says Devon. “I don’t have a talent.”

Wesley scoffs. “Everyone has a talent. It’s not arrogant to know so, it’s just logic. I play soccer. I’m good at it. Maybe it’s my only talent, but I’ll say it’s a talent because the facts tell me I’m good at it. That’s not even arrogant, is it?”

“No…” Devon understands what Wesley is saying and no, he doesn’t think that he’s arrogant, but, “well, the only thing different about me is that there is nothing. Everyone’s different in some way, but I’m sort of like a blank canvas, you know? I don’t have interests or talents or anything.”

“Nonsense,” says Wesley. “All that means is that you haven’t found them yet.”

Devon just shrugs and lets it go. “Maybe.”

“You don’t believe me, do you?” Wesley asks, but it’s not a question and they both know it. He just sighs, though, and drops it. “Where are we headed?”

“I don’t know,” Devon admits. “I’m just wandering around.”

“Perfect,” says Wesley, “that’s my favorite.”

It’s not sarcastic- he’s being totally open and genuine with Devon, and even though it’s only because he doesn’t know Devon well yet and doesn’t know to hate him, it’s nice, just for a bit. They fall into a companionable silence, but it’s nice. Devon’s never experienced that before, even when he didn’t yet know there was no one out there for him and no one treated him like a freak. They wander the grounds of the school, and Devon has to admit it’s a beautiful property. He feels like he can breathe out in the open, with the green grass and the wind brushing gently on his skin. 

“You look happy,” Wesley says gently, and Devon suddenly realizes he’s been smiling lightly up at the sky as if he could see the wind moving. The weather is perfect, and it’s helped lift his spirits just a little. 

“Happy?” the word sounds strange on his tongue. He hasn’t said it in a while. “It’s...it’s really nice out here.”

“Maybe it’s a sign,” Wesley says, looking around. “A sign that you’re starting over, right?”

For a moment, Devon wonders if Wesley heard all of the rumours, if he heard of the scandal, but then he decides that if Wesley knew, he wouldn’t be here walking with him, and he relaxes. 

“Starting over from what?” he asks.

Wesley shrugs. “I don’t know,” he says. “Whatever makes you so reserved and quiet.”

“I’m not quiet,” Devon protests, even though he knows it’s a lie. 

“Yes you are,” Wesley says. “It’s not a bad thing, but you should only be quiet if you want to be. Everyone’s got something to say, and if they want to say it, then they should. Too many people don’t speak when they should and it’s a right damn shame. Quiet people have the best things to say, many times.”

“I’m not the smart sort of quiet,” Devon tells him.

“Well, I wouldn’t know, would I?” Wesley says with a smile. “This is the most you’ve  spoken since you got here.”

“Whatever.” Devon laughs lightly, and Wesley’s smile widens.

“That. Do that more often.”

And what is this? What are they doing? Devon doesn’t know what to think, but he finds himself unable to keep from smiling, his cheeks dusted with a little pink he pretends is from the wind. 

He’s too distracted to tell himself to stop falling.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


When they show up at dinner, Ariadne scolds Wesley for apparently forgetting he was supposed to help Zander with some homework problem, but Zander tells her he took an accidental nap anyway, and Ariadne’s smiling at Devon mysteriously, so it seems that no one’s really upset. 

“So, Wes, heard from Liza at all?” Ariadne asks halfway through the meal, and Wesley groans.

“Technically yes, but I haven’t opened any of her texts all day.” He pulls out his phone and rolls his eyes. “Fifty-seven unread texts, forty-two from her.”

Devon tries to swallow his disappointment. Liza must be Wesley’s perfect soulmate. Of course. He’s such an idiot.

“Why don’t you just dump her pampered ass and be done with it?” Zander whines. “We’re starting to hate her as much as you do, and we don’t talk to her unless she comes to visit.”

“Because she’s my soulmate,” Wesley snaps, suddenly looking extremely frustrated, and Devon realizes it must be a really sore topic. Wesley doesn’t seem at all happy about his relationship, and while Devon wishes that that could mean he could be hopeful, he knows that all it means is that Wesley will probably be unhappy his whole life with someone he doesn’t love.

The day suddenly feels soured. 

“Wes,” Jerome says gently, and Wesley deflates.

“I’m sorry Zander, that was mean,” he apologizes, and Zander waves it off.

“I shouldn’t have whined at you. We don’t have to deal with it, I get it. We’re good here.”

Wesley smiles weakly at him and Ariadne changes the topic. Devon takes that time to observe everyone there some more. Avery is apparently in bed again, and Zander and Wesley launch into a discussion about whether The Nightmare Before Christmas is a Christmas movie or a Halloween movie. Ariadne joins in with way too detailed information for a casual fan and seems to get surprisingly worked up over it. They all laugh at her as friends do, in a fond way, and she just scolds them for it. Devon realizes he knows Jerome the least at this point, and finds himself observing the quieter boy as he throws in a snarky comment every once in a while but generally remains silent. He and Ariadne seem especially close, and while he generally just observes everyone, he throws in comments just to set her off and then laughs until she has to join in laughing too. He stops after a bit, however, and Devon finds himself curious when he realizes that Jerome is watching Ariadne’s plate. It’s not very full, but it’s been barely touched. He’d think she just wasn’t hungry, but Jerome seems to be waiting as he continuously glances at it. 

When things begin to wind down in the dining hall and the plate is still untouched, Devon watches as Jerome gently touches Ariadne’s arm to get her attention and wordlessly motions at the food. Everyone else is either still distracted or pretending to be as the two have a silent conversation. Devon tries to ignore it, but he has to admit he’s too curious as he watches Ariadne shake her head stubbornly. 

“Just not hungry,” she hisses at him, and Devon flinches, but Jerome seems unfazed. 

“Ari.” He stares her down.

“Not right now,” she says.

“Ariadne-”

“I said not right now!” she shouts at him, and then she storms out. Everyone at the table turns to watch her go, but there seems to be an unspoken understanding that whatever just happened is something between Jerome and Ariadne, and they don’t say anything.

Jerome stands up and hurries out the door, and Devon finds himself running after him and catching his arm without realizing it. He feels just as surprised as Jerome looks, but he swallows and forces himself to speak. 

“Give her a few minutes,” he says, even though in his head he’s telling himself to shut up. “She’s gonna need a minute to calm down, and then she’ll feel guilty for yelling at you. Give it a minute and then go tell her you’re not angry.”

Jerome looks at him curiously. 

“Unless you are angry,” Devon adds hastily. “Don’t lie, that’ll just make things worse.”

“I’m not angry,” Jerome says. “I’m concerned.” He suddenly looks really tired, and Devon is at a loss as to what to do.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I don’t know why I- I just.” Jerome waits patiently as Devon struggles with words. “I can read people really well when they’re interacting with each other. It’s weird, I know, and I have no clue what people mean or are saying when they’re talking to me, but when they’re talking to other people I- I just read people.”

Jerome smiles at him reassuringly, though he still looks worried, and Devon relaxes a little. “I really appreciate it, thanks. I know you’re trying to help and I’m sure you’re right. I’ll give her a minute. I’m not- I’m not good at this.”

“I won’t ask what ‘this’ is because I don’t want to intrude,” Devon says, “but if I can help at all, let me know.”

“Thank you,” Jerome says sincerely. “I think I’ll go find her now, you should go hang out with the others. Get to know them, you’re part of this group now.” He flashes another smile, and Devon nods awkwardly before heading back into the hall.

“Heeeeey,” Zander greets, and they continue as normal. Devon suspects that whatever just happened is related to something they all know, and that there’s an unspoken understanding that Jerome can or will handle it. He’s got his theories, but he tries not to think about it too much. He wants to respect Ariadne’s privacy.

He hopes it’s not what he thinks. He also hopes no one notices that his plate looks exactly the same as Ariadne’s that is now sitting untouched at the seat by Daya. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Jerome and Ariadne are alright the next morning, but quiet at breakfast. Ariadne looks ready to vomit as she eats, but either no one else notices or they know not to watch. Devon’s subtle, but he sees her disgust at the food on her fork and Jerome’s careful distractions from it. 

He wonders if they’re soulmates, but surely they’d know it by now. Maybe they’re together, but they’re just a quiet couple. They’re really good together, he thinks, even if Jerome seems to think he’s not good at helping her. Devon’s suspicions are only proven right by her behaviour, and it makes him sad to see the most cheerful person in the group seem so down. 

“Anyone got plans this weekend?” Avery asks, looking sullen and drowsy. Devon’s surprised to see him at breakfast, and he looks like he’s going to fall asleep and drop his face into his food.

“Liza’s coming,” Wesley says darkly, and Devon swallows his disappointment again. He’s such an idiot. 

“Tell her to fuck off,” Daya says. “She’s a right bitch, that one.”

They all laugh at that. Daya’s got her curly hair in pigtails and she’s wearing a pink shirt, but she looks like she’s ready to fight this girl the second she sees her.

“My dad would have my head,” Wesley says, but he’s laughing with them. 

“We should make some plans, though,” Ariadne says, and Jerome looks relieved that she’s talking. 

“Like what?” Zander asks. “We can’t skip movie night.”

“Well duh,” says Avery. “Even I come to that.”

“That’s cause it’s at night,” Ariadne snarks, and they all laugh again. It’s a joke that Devon feels like he’s on the inside of too at this point, and he feels more relaxed at that. Every second since he arrived at Marianas High has been strange, and yet he finds himself liking it. 

Something terrible will happen soon, he’s sure of it. It always does.

“We should go shopping,” Daya says.

“True, we haven’t done that in a while,” Wesley says. “I need some new shoes.”

“So, shopping?” Ariadne asks the table, and everyone agrees more or less enthusiastically. “Okay. My car and Wesley’s, again?”

“Sure. You in, Devon?” Wesley asks, and Devon startles, legitimately surprised.

“You want me to come?” he asks, and Wesley’s grin turns a little sad.

“Of course, the whole group is going,” he says. “You have to come. You haven’t been to the mall here yet, have you?”

“No,” Devon says hesitantly. 

“Then you have to come! We have to show you around.” Wesley winks teasingly at him and Devon flushes.

“O-Okay.”

“Cool!” says Zander. “Now what’re we watching for movie night?”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Devon stumbles upon Ariadne when he goes for another walk, this time alone, and he finds her sitting alone under a tree. Normally he would have avoided bothering her, but he doesn’t notice her until he’s walking right by, and she greets him quietly. She seems subdued, and Devon wants to ask what’s wrong, but he’s not her friend, really, barely even knows her, and it’s not his place.

“You can sit,” she says, and she seems almost as if she wants company, so he sits.

“Why are you out here alone?” he asks, and she sighs. 

“Just trying to clear my head,” she says. “Devon, have you- have you ever been in love?”

“No,” Devon says immediately, and it’s true.

“Me neither,” she says, “but I wish I was.”

“Why do you wish that?” he asks because it seems like he should. He doesn’t want to pry, but he senses that she’s trying to open up and wants a little help.

“Because I was supposed to when I met him,” she says, “and he’s so good, Devon, but I just don’t love him. Not like that.”

“Jerome?”

“Yes. Jerome.” She looks so sad, but Devon knows he can’t fix it, and he hates that. “We’re- we’re soulmates. But I’m not in love with him.”

“Does he know?” Devon asks hesitantly.

“Yes.” Ariadne brings her knees up to her chest and hugs them. “He knows, and he says it’s alright and he’s so sweet and- and he thinks he’s in love with me, but he’s not.”

“How do you know that he’s not?” Devon asks.

“I don’t know,” Ariadne says distantly. “But I feel it so strongly. I can’t explain it. But he’s not and I’m not and it’s not how things are supposed to be, but I can’t force us together and put either of us through that. The soulmate system is a broken piece of bullshit and Jerome and I make good friends and terrible lovers.”

“You think it’s wrong?” Devon asks. He’s never heard anyone say that before.

“Just look at Wesley!” Ariadne says, upset. “It’s no secret that he and his soulmate fucking hate each other, but they’re ‘meant for each other’ whatever that means. It’s wrong. And some people- some people don’t even have a soulmate, but that doesn’t mean they should always be alone, does it? I don’t know, I just- I feel like a fuck-up, a failed part of the system.”

Devon’s silent for a moment. Then he reaches for his sleeve and pulls it up to reveal the empty spot on his wrist. He’s not just revealing the blank space where his heart should be, he’s showing her the lines slashed through his skin, and she lets out a quiet gasp at the sight, her hand moving seemingly of its own accord as she reaches out and gently touches where his wrist meets his hand.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I’m sorry you-” she looks at where the scars form a heart, right where the thin black lines should be, and chokes on her words. Devon’s frozen, shocked at himself for revealing so much to someone. 

“Why are you sorry?” he asks after a while. “You’re not a freak, you’re just  questioning something most people don’t dare to. I’m the freak here, I have no mark and I-” he stops. “Please don’t tell anyone, really, it...it didn’t end well the last time.”

“Of course not,” Ariadne says gently. “I’m so sorry, you must hate me for pitying myself.”

“No, no,” Devon protests. “I just want you to feel better. I don’t- I don’t know how to do this, I’m sorry. I’m trying to help you feel less...alone.”

“I do,” Ariadne says with a wobbly smile, “thank you for confiding that in me. I won’t tell a soul, not even Jerome, I swear. And you can talk to me any time, I mean it. We all really like you, Devon.”

“Really?” he asks incredulously. “I haven’t really...done anything.”

Ariadne laughs and Devon feels a little better that she seems less upset. “You’re funny, you’re sweet, and Wesley has a mini crush on you. I think you’re fine.”

“Wesley- what?” Devon stutters, immediately flustered. 

“Oh, come on,” Ariadne says teasingly, “don’t tell me that you didn’t notice.”

“I...guess I didn’t notice,” Devon says faintly. “I don’t think he- I mean, I’m just-”

“Shut up,” Ariadne says, but it’s one of the nicest things anyone’s ever said to him because he knows why she said it. “You’re plenty attractive yourself, you know, and...not having a soulmate? That makes it less crazy, actually. You’ve heard him talk about Liza, they hate each other. If-I don’t want to mess things up, I’m sorry. But he likes you a lot at least as a friend, and we like you too. So try to relax and just accept it, okay? It took me a while too, I get it, but we’re sincere. We like you and you’re part of this group now.”

“Jerome said that too,” Devon says. “I think you two are alike in some ways.”

“Too much alike,” Ariadne says. “He’s just the good version of me.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” Devon tells her. “You were really nice to me just a moment ago. No one’s ever been nice about me being a Blank. My parents hate me and my friends from Kingsley-” he stops himself. What is he doing? Why is he revealing so much? He needs to shut up right now. Ariadne is perfectly nice and a good person but that doesn’t mean she won’t think he’s a freak, because he is. He can’t let her know any more. She knows too much already. 

“That’s not me being nice,” Ariadne says. “That’s me being a decent person. But thank you for talking to me, I didn’t mean to drag you into a pity party.”

“Any time,” Devon says. “I like talking to people.”

“Then do it more, you silly,” Ariadne laughs. “Come on, let’s go see what the others are up to.”

Devon expects himself to freak out the whole walk back to the dorms, but he doesn’t. He feels a little lighter, actually, and Ariadne doesn’t say a word about it when they meet up with Zander and Jerome.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Even later, when he’s in bed and the lights are out, he doesn’t freak out. No, he lays on his back and finds himself smiling up at the ceiling like an idiot before he gets mad at himself and forces himself to go to sleep. 

_ Stupid stupid stupid. Stop thinking like that.  _


	3. Liza Princeton

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I would love feedback from you all! This is my first really original story, and I'd love to hear what you all think.

Days blend together. Devon feels as if he’s traveled to another planet by week two, what with Wesley’s near-flirting, Ariadne’s secret sharing, and just the general feeling of acceptance and friendship that he hasn’t felt in years from anyone. Ariadne hasn’t confided in Devon about anything other than her complicated friendship with Jerome, but she seems more relaxed again and they talk about it several times. Devon is careful not to reveal anything more about himself or his past, however, because as much as he trusts Ariadne, he doesn’t believe she’d ever look at him the same way again.

He’s doing alright in his classes too, though it’s only the beginning of the semester. Zander and Wesley both offer him help, and Daya coaches him through some math problems despite being a grade beneath him. She’s smart as a whip and steadily working her way ahead of her fellow juniors. He’s slowly getting to know all of them better, except for Avery and Jerome. Avery is almost always in his room and Jerome is present but more quiet. He doesn’t ignore anyone, he just tends to observe rather than speak, as does Devon, so they commonly sit in silence as the others hurl insults and find themselves in friendly debates every time they hang out. It should be exhausting, but it’s not. Devon finds that their group is in their own little world from the rest of the school, as they never seem to interact with anyone else and no one tries to interact with them. They’re not exactly the popular group, but they’re not really the loser group either. They’re just too separated from the other groups to be anything to the others.

In fact, they don’t interact with a single outsider other than teachers until that dreaded weekend, the one when the infamous Liza is supposed to arrive. After some begging from Wesley, they reluctantly agree to bring her along on their little shopping trip so that he doesn’t have to be alone with her, and Devon finds himself wondering just how bad this girl could be. He can’t imagine someone as openly kind as Wesley having that terrible of a soulmate. The universe hasn’t seemed to have fucked up that bad with any couples Devon’s met so far, and it doesn’t add up.

She shows up in her own little Porsche, and Wesley looks as if he’s going to his doom as he exits the dorm building to greet her. Zander, Jerome, and Devon all hover in the entryway, and Devon’s relieved to see that they seem as awkward as he does. Wesley had just been teasing him and laughing at his disgusted faces on the way downstairs, but he suddenly seems quiet from what Devon can see of him through the open door, and it makes him a little sad. He can’t help the sinking in his heart when he sees Liza step out of the car and take Wesley’s hand. She’s gorgeous, with long, white blonde hair, a perfect complexion, and delicate facial features. Her eyes are a light color and round, and she’s tall and thin. Basically, she looks like an airbrushed model, and Devon just wants to shrink in on himself and hide. He doesn’t even like Wesley that much anyway, he tells himself. He just likes having a friend. He barely even knows the other boy, and he’s way out of his league, after all. It’s alright, they make a perfect looking couple.

Wesley’s a little stiff as they come up the outside steps and approach the three boys. Liza shoots them a surprisingly friendly smile and waves, and Zander waves back awkwardly. Jerome shoots Devon a sympathetic look, and Devon doesn’t like the knowing glint in his eyes.

“Hey guys,” Liza greets, pulling off her coat as Wesley shuts the door. Devon has never felt more awkward.

“Hey,” Jerome responds. “The others should be here soon.”

“Okay,” Liza says cheerfully, as if she doesn’t even notice the awkward silence. “You must be Devon.”

Devon startles as she looks at him. “Um, yeah. Devon Fortescue.” He holds out a hand and she shakes it firmly.

“Wesley’s mentioned you a few times,” she says, with an odd glint in her eyes. “It’s good to meet you. You’re a transfer student, right?”

“Um, yeah. Why don’t you go to Marianas?” he asks, politely but awkwardly.

She laughs. “I go to an all girls school. Strict parents.”

The door opens, and they all seem relieved to see Ariadne.

“Daya can’t make it,” she says in greeting. “Ready to go?”

Devon opts to ride with Ariadne and Jerome, so Wesley steals Zander and begs him silently to save him. Zander rolls his eyes but goes anyway. It’s not a long ride, but Jerome and Ariadne have a wordless discussion in the front seats, and Devon doesn’t ask why Ariadne keeps glancing at him in the rear view mirror.

“So, thoughts?” she asks him after a few minutes.

“On what?” he asks.

“Liza.”

“Oh, I don’t know. She seems nice enough, but really stiff.”

“See, that’s what I thought,” Ariadne says. “But the nightmare stories.” She lets out a short laugh.

“Nightmare stories?” Devon asks.

“Oh nothing horrific,” Ariadne says. “Wesley doesn’t give many details, but she picks fights all the time and tries to drive away anyone that gets too close to him. Basically she’s really possessive of him and he’s never good enough for her. She’s good at acting alright in person, though, which sort of creeps me out.”

“Oh.” Devon just pauses. “It’s hard to tell. I just don’t know how…” he trails off.

“Someone as sweet as Wesley ended up with a bitch?” Ariadne fills in, dead serious. Jerome lets out a quiet snicker in the passenger seat but doesn’t comment.

“Yeah. That.”

Ariadne sighs. “I don’t know. It just doesn’t seem fair.”

“It isn’t,” Jerome agrees. “But sometimes it just doesn’t work out and that’s okay.” His tone is light, but Ariadne gets the message and sends him a grateful smile. Devon is the quiet observer as always, however, and he sees the look Jerome gives Ariadne as she goes back to rambling about Liza and focuses her attention on the road. He’s got the most awful sad smile on his face and Devon hates seeing it. He’s seen it before on his own.

 

 

Things are so horrifically awkward when they finally get to the mall. Zander looks a little traumatized when they meet up in the parking lot and head inside, and Liza gives Devon a strange look when Wesley walks up beside him, immediately falling into conversation with him like they always do when they walk outside. Devon shrugs it off, however, and ignores her pouting behind them as Wesley tells him about some store he likes going to. If the people here that he actually cares about don’t have a problem with him, he doesn’t care if Liza does.

After they make it inside, Liza squeezes in between Wesley and Devon and grabs Wesley’s arm, clinging to him and trying to act more like a couple, and to Devon’s surprise, Wesley just goes with it, letting her drag him around and listening to her constant chatter. It’s all confusing, and he’s not used to having friends so he’s not sure what he’s supposed to do.

“They fought the whole way here,” Zander tells him, falling into step alongside him. “It was really awkward and I’m driving home with you guys. I can’t do that again.” He laughs.

“Why were they fighting?” Devon asks, eyeing the distracted couple curiously. They seem just fine, other than the slightly tense line of Wesley’s shoulders and the fake laugh Liza keeps letting out.

“Not exactly sure,” Zander says. “Something about him not going to an event. I don’t even know. They’re weird.”  
They fall into silence and Devon lets his mind wander. The mall is rather impressive, but the others seem accustomed to it, hardly pausing to walk into a store as if they’ve already seen all of the merchandise they have to offer. He wonders if it’s a fairly common hangout spot for their group.

“Wes, we should go look at that new shoe store,” Liza says in that high pitched voice of hers.

“Why,” Wesley replies, not really a question and definitely not very enthused.

“I heard they carry Prada products and I’ve worn my black Prada heels too many times. I need some new ones.”

“I don’t really feel like going into a shoe store. Why don’t you see if Ari wants to?”

“Well, _I’m_ going,” Liza snaps at him, sweet to sour in a hot second, and Devon feels like he just got mental whiplash trying to catch up with the attitude change as she stomps off.

“Just fucking shoot me,” Wesley sighs before leaving the group to catch up to her. The others recover quickly and move on, but Devon can’t help looking back to see Wesley trying to soothe his girlfriend’s ruffled feathers.

Devon sort of wants to punch her. He hasn’t felt like that toward anyone in a while.

 

 

“If you’re gonna be a shopper,” Zander tells Devon, “shop like Ariadne, not like Liza.”  
They both look over to where Ariadne is excitedly chattering at Jerome about a dress she’s holding up.

“What do you mean?” Devon asks.

“If you tell her you have no fucking clue what she’s talking about, she doesn’t force you into a conversation,” Zander laughs. “Jerome just does it willingly. Something about letting people talk about the things they like even if you’re not personally interested because they want people to listen. And that’s when you really know people. I don’t know, it was sort of deep.”

“Not a clothes fan?” Devon asks, and Zander shrugs.

“I mean, everyone has their own personal style, but I end up in my uniform so much I don’t really care about what I wear the rest of the time.”

“True.” Devon glances back at Jerome and Ariadne.

“What do you think, Devon, green or maroon?” Ariadne asks, and Jerome just laughs at her as she holds up two dresses.

Devon tries to actually put some thought in it. “Green? Both would look good with your hair and skin tone.”

“Gaaaay,” says Zander, but he laughs and slings an arm around Devon’s neck, so Devon just rolls his eyes.

“Thanks Devon, that’s really sweet.” Ariadne smiles and turns to put the maroon dress back on the rack. Jerome flashes a grin at Devon when her back is turned and mouths thank you. Devon gets the feeling that Jerome doesn’t know a thing about fashion.

“You need some new shirts,” Ariadne tells Jerome, and Jerome lets out a long groan.

“How did you even know that,” he gripes.

“You’ve worn the same two shirts alternate days for like a month,” Ariadne says. “I’m going to hope and/or pretend you’ve actually gotten them washed in between then, but regardless, you need more.”

“I just forgot to bring more when I came back from holidays,” Jerome complains. “I don’t want to go look at more.”

“Well it’s too bad,” says Ariadne. “We’re getting you some. We’ll just pop into one store, okay?”

Jerome rolls his own eyes and follows her out of the store, and Devon and Zander just shrug at each other and follow.

“What about you two?” Ari asks them as they head toward another store. “Need anything? I’m pretty fast since I know you boys tend to hate shopping.”

“I dunno.” Zander looks like he’d rather go to the game store he just spotted. “I’m gonna head off for a bit, just text me when you wanna meet up. Wanna come, Dev?”

“I’m good.” Devon feels more comfortable with Ariadne, and he’s never been a big gamer, so he just follows her and Jerome into another store and looks around at the giant racks of clothing. He’s never spent much on clothes, though his parents gave him a credit card and told him to just buy what he wants and leave them alone. It might be his sort of thing if he put effort in, but generally he has no motivation to try and look good. Maybe once he loses a little more weight…

“Here!” Ariadne hands a shirt to Jerome. “You wear way too much blue. Some green would help draw it out in your eyes.”

“Whatever you say,” Jerome laughs at her and takes the shirt. “If I argue too much, it takes longer.”  
The last sentence is aimed toward Devon, and Devon finds himself laughing again, the two of them watching Ariadne sort through racks in mere seconds.

“She really likes this whole shopping thing, doesn’t she?” he asks.

“Oh yeah. But it’s good. I’m glad she does. It’s nice seeing her excited about something…”

Jerome seems to get lost in his head, so Devon just lets him be, standing there quietly and waiting patiently.

 

 

The drive back is alright. Zander talks on and on about some new game he got, but Devon has never kept up with gaming at all. His younger brother was more into that sort of thing, but Devon was the _sensitive_ child. Everyone assumed his soulmate would be a boy before they realized he was a Blank, but they didn’t mind too much. Just stereotype jokes that got a little old.

Liza and Wesley had rejoined the group right before they left, and Liza had returned with four bags, most of which Wesley was carrying with an extremely sour expression on his face. He hadn’t looked that surprised when Zander had told them he was going to ride home with the others, but Devon felt a little bad for him.  
They split up back at the school, and Zander disappears to go hang out with some other friends he has, leaving Devon to his thoughts for the first time in a while. It’s never fun. He’s got an old text from his dad he keeps putting off responding to, and his mom will probably call him in a week or so, which is stupidly stressful. Everything is stressful. He’s always worrying about something, and he hates it, he really, really hates it.

He flops onto his bed and lets out a loud sigh, trying to distract himself. It’s not working. What is he thinking, making friends here? They’re just going to hate him eventually. Ariadne didn’t get upset about him being a Blank, but she’s an exception, and the rest of it would freak her out anyway. They’ll all hate him when they really get to know him. If they get to know him. They can’t, no one ever can. He’s got to keep himself closed up. He can make these friendships work if he keeps them on the surface, can’t he? They can talk to him about anything, Ariadne already talks to him about Jerome, but he can’t open himself up. It just doesn’t end well.

God, he’s a _freak_. He can’t be friends with these people- and Wesley? What is he even _thinking_? Someone was nice to him once and he gets these- these feelings? He’s just lonely. He’s just stupid, and naive, and alone. He’ll get over it. He’s gotten over worse things, it’s just a small, shallow feeling. It’ll go away.  
He needs something right now. He’s going to have a panic attack if he doesn’t take a cold shower or go for a run or- or-

It’s been a little while. He tries other things, sometimes, and having friends has sort of shifted his mood a bit, made him want to distract himself and ignore the bad feelings, but it was never going to work for long. He was always going to end up back here regardless, and he barely hesitates before he goes into the bathroom and pulls out the old hair cream container he’s had for years. He doesn’t even use product on his hair, but no one’s ever noticed it and he’s used the same hiding place since he was thirteen. He opens it and looks at the gleaming razor for a moment before sighing and pulling it out. He settles onto the floor with his back against the cabinet under the sink and rips off a paper towel, folding it over and setting it on his lap before rolling up his sleeve and letting his arm sit on the paper towel. He breathes once, twice, three times, and then lets the blade rest on his wrist and pulls it gently over the skin.

 _Start small._ It’s a shallow cut, turning red but not bleeding. It’s okay. He likes to build up to it. He pulls it across his skin again, next to the first cut, and this one bleeds a little. His breath is coming in gasps but he hardly even notices. The rush is the same as it was when he first started, but he feels panicky still. Another cut, more gasping breaths. There are tears now, rolling down his cheeks and landing on his lap, but he can’t stop. He’s going to keep panicking if he doesn’t feel enough pain. He needs more. It’s not enough, _not enough-_

Oh. _There it is._ Somewhere in the back of his mind he’s actually a little worried at how quickly and how wide the skin parts under his blade on the cut he makes, but suddenly the gasping stops and he blinks back the tears, staring at the slit in his skin. Blood pools in the gap between the skin and spills over a little, and he rushes to pull the paper towel around to stop it before it stains his pants. They’re dark, he’s just wearing black jeans, but it’s still a bitch to get out sometimes. He finds himself just sitting there, the paper towel pressed to his skin and blossoming with red and his eyes vacant as he zones out, staring at the shower across the room. He’s lost. He’s not panicking, he’s not thinking about his parents, he’s- not thinking at all. Time passes and he doesn’t notice, doesn’t know how long it’s been or if Zander has come back or if it’s dinner time yet.

Finally he’s drawn from limbo as his phone buzzes sharply against the tile floor.  
It’s a text from Wesley.

Wesley: _hey, what’s up_

Devon’s not sure what to say. He really needs to take care of his arm, even though he’s only got a few cuts. The last one was pretty deep.

You: _not much. You?_

He sets his phone on the sink rim and pulls himself to his feet, leaning over the sink and pulling the paper towel away from his arm. The blood had dried to it, and when he pulls it off, the cuts start bleeding again as they reopen. He’s used to it and hardly notices the fresh pain as he turns on the sink and runs the water over his arm. It’s cold, and he shifts it to warm as his phone buzzes again.

Wesley: _hanging out with Liza but she’s being a bitch again._

You: _I’m sorry_

Wesley: _well, it’s not your fault, is it?_

You: _well I can still feel sorry for you, right_

Wesley: _true. I shouldn’t complain. It’s just my lot in life I suppose_

Devon bites his lip and wets the paper towel, using it to scrub his arm before answering Wesley’s text.

You: _have you thought about breaking up with her?_

It’s a few minutes before Wesley responds, and Devon starts to panic again.

You: _sorry, shouldn’t have said that. I know it’s not that easy._

Wesley: _no, no, it’s okay. I have thought about it actually, but I don’t know how to. Everyone knows we’re soulmates or whatever and I know I would be fine finding someone on my own, but i don’t know if i want to put her through that_

You: _maybe you should worry about yourself for a bit. And why would she want to be in a relationship where there’s no real feelings_

He’s not sure why he’s so forward with Wesley. For the most part, he’s just trying to be a good friend. He also feels a little more bold with the other boy, a little more like he can speak his mind.

Wesley: _aye aye cap’n_

You: _What?_

Wesley: _I don’t know. I’m being weird. Sorry._

You: _No need to be. What are you two doing now?_

Finally he decides his cuts are clean and he sets his phone down again to wrap them in some gauze and roll his hoodie sleeve back down. He goes into the bedroom and is almost relieved to see that Zander hasn’t returned. He actually quite likes the other boy, but he needs some peace for a little bit. It’s not quite dinner time either, so he settles onto his bed and pulls his phone out again.

Wesley: _nothing really. We’re sitting in my room but she’s just using her phone. Probably telling her friends about how much I suck lmao_

Devon frowns.

You: _you don’t suck_

Wesley: _well, that’s what she thinks haha she was not happy with me at the mall earlier_

You: _why?_

Wesley: _she said I was ignoring her to talk to you_

You: _oh, well there’s no need to talk to me around her if she doesn’t like me_

Wesley: _oh shut up. I like talking to you. It’s her I don’t want to talk to_

Devon pretends he isn’t grinning to himself like an idiot. He’s not that stupid, is he?

You: _well I like talking to you too_

Wesley: _good. Cause you’re stuck with me then_

You: _haha alrighty then_

Wesley: _ugh I have to go. She’s bitching at me for ignoring her again. I’ll see you at dinner?_

You _: yeah, see you then_

Wesley: _:)_

Devon is definitely smiling to himself.


	4. Happiness in the Moment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I'm working on updating faster, so I hope you all will be able to read the story more smoothly. However, I can't make any promises as I've got a lot of shit going on right now, but I hope I'll be able to keep up. Let me know what you think :)

“-and Jerome’s mom asked if I want to come visit over fall break, but he swears he hasn’t told her we’re soulmates. I mean, I don’t think he has to hide it from her, because he’s close with her, but I- I don’t know. I don’t want him to think it’s a bad secret, but I don’t want her to think there’s a chance because there’s not- I give up. Who are you texting?”

Devon stops suddenly, freezing and looking at Ariadne guiltily. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have gotten distracted. You don’t think he’s told his mom?”

“No, no, who is it?” Ariadne asks teasingly, brushing off his question. She doesn’t seem offended, which is a relief, so Devon lets it go.

“Just Wes,” he says as casually as possible.

“Oh, okay.” Ariadne grins. “I get it. ‘Just Wes.’ So we’re doing nicknames now, hm?”

Devon can feel himself turning red. “Yeah, I mean, you all sort of- Jerome calls you Ari!”

Her face falls for a second and Devon realizes his mistake. “Oh shit. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, I just...forgot, I guess.”

“Devon, hey, it’s okay.” She smiles again. “We sort of pass nicknames around. And that’s a very good point, though. Seems almost like I could read into that.”

“It’s nothing,” Devon protests. 

“Okay, what are you talking about?” she asks.

Wesley: _ i was just really glad when she finally left. That’s not a good thing, is it?  _

“Not much,” Devon says.

“Mhmm,” Ariadne says, and Devon feels the need to splutter and explain, for some reason.

“We’re just talking about Liza, okay? Nothing fun.”

“Wait, really?” Ariadne moves as if to peer over his shoulder and then quickly retracts. “Oh, sorry. Dammit. I’m too used to being awkwardly close with Daya and Jerome.”

“It’s okay.” Devon looks down at his phone.

You:  _ It’s understandable. I think anyone would feel that way _

“He just doesn’t talk about it much. I mean, he’s told us about her being manipulative and controlling, and he used to say more, but lately he’s been really closed off about it. I think he just accepted it for a bit there, even though everyone was urging him to just sort of...I guess fight the system and break it off.”

“Does he know about you and Jerome?” Devon asks. 

“No.” Ariadne sighs. “I should probably tell him, though. I think maybe it could help. I’ll probably tell him at some point but I think the timing isn’t right yet.” She gives Devon an odd look that makes him feel as if there’s more to what she’s saying. “But for now I think I’ll call you Dev too. It’s cute.” She pokes his cheek and sits back on the bench. They’re outside toward the edge of the grounds, and it’s quiet. They do that a fair bit now, and Devon enjoys it, though he finds it feels different than when he walks with Wesley. He flushes again and looks down at his phone. 

Wesley:  _ I suppose so. Jerome says he’d probably go insane _

You:  _ oh, is that what happened? _

Wesley:  _ oh shut up you smartass _

You:  _ sorry _

Wesley:  _ don’t be, I actually like it when you get like that. It’s fun and you seem more open _

“Godammit Dev, be less obvious,” Ariadne says finally. 

“Wha-what?” Devon nearly drops his phone. “I’m just- just texting, what do you mean?”

Ariadne rolls her eyes. “Whatever. Just know that I’m watching.” She narrows her eyes at him but then laughs. “You two are so cute.”

Devon just stares at her. “You’re weird,” he says after a moment, and she laughs again. 

“I know. Ya’ll love it, though.”

“We do.” Devon nods, and she smiles at him and slings an arm over his shoulders. It’s an oddly platonic moment, like when Zander did the same thing. Devon feels comfortable with her but they’re clear on where they stand- they’re friends and they’re  _ just _ friends, even if they’re growing close quickly. He tries to be as open with her as he can without revealing too much which sounds contradictory but is all he can give, and yet she sees through it, often. 

You:  _ I like being like that. It feels more natural...it feels better than usual _

Wesley:  _ what do you mean? _

You: _ I don’t know. Just being stupid _

Wesley:  _ no, don’t do that. It sounded important _

You:  _ why would it be important? _

Wesley:  _ it has to do with you, of course it’s important, you dummy _

You:  _ dummy….? _

Wesley:  _ it’s meant with affection. And I see you deflecting my question, Dev _

Ariadne gives up and just pulls out her own phone, which would make Devon feel bad if she didn’t usually do it to him. 

You:  _ just that i haven’t been like this in years _

Too much, too much, too much. He always says too much. But...it’s Wesley. It’s sort of okay.

Wesley:  _ why not? _

You:  _ i dont want to talk about that right now. Maybe some other time _

Wesley:  _ that’s okay. I understand. But I’m here if you ever need to _

You:  _ thanks _

Wesley:  _ and it’s fun when you’re more open. Don’t be afraid to be _

You:  _ haha okay _

Wesley:  _ you should know that I hate to lie _

You:  _ what? _

Wesley:  _ so I wouldn’t lie to you about this, okay? I like it when people are open, I feel like I can trust them then _

You:  _ oh i see. I’m the same way, i suppose, but people rarely get close _

Wesley:  _ well, their mistake, my benefit _

You:  _ you confuse me a lot _

Wesley:  _ I know, it’s fun _

“Your face is gonna get stuck that way,” Ariadne snarks at Devon. 

“What way?” Devon asks, dropping the smile and realizing his face hurt from holding it too long accidentally. 

“The dreamy, in love smile,” Ariadne says exasperatedly.

“I’m not in love!” Devon protests. “I’m not.”

“Maybe not quite  _ in love _ but I can read a goofy smile like nothing else, Dev.”

“I don’t want to talk about this,” Devon says stubbornly. “Please.”

Ariadne sobers up. “Okay. I’m sorry if that rubbed you the wrong way. I just like seeing you look happy.”

“It’s alright. It’s my fault.” 

You: _ whatever, smartass _

Wesley:  _ that’s your nickname, don’t push it on me _

You:  _ you’re more of a smartass than I am _

Wesley:  _ am not. I get the feeling there’s a secret sassy, sarcastic smartass deep down that I’ve got to get you to let out.  _

You:  _ whatever you want to think _

Wesley:  _ why thank you for the unnecessary permission _

Devon rolls his eyes. “Wesley is an idiot.”

“Oh I know,” Ariadne agrees. “All my boys are.”

“Your boys?”

“Yeah, I may embrace the whole mom thing a little too much,” Ariadne admits. “But my statement still stands. They’re all idiots and I love them.”

Devon finds himself laughing with her and stops to think about what’s happened to him in the past couple weeks. He feels alright. He may have broken down for a bit last night, he may have fresh cuts on his wrist that still burn, and he may still have so many issues, but he feels almost happy right now. There’s a little hope in there. 

“Thanks for being my mom,” he teases Ari.

“Oh shush,” she scolds him. “You little smartass.”

“Hey, you said it first,” he protests.

“Yeah, okay, that’s true,” she snickers. “Hey, Jerome’s done with homework, I might go meet him for lunch to try and figure out this thing with his mom, do you mind?”

“No,” Devon waves her on. “I’ll be fine.”

“Why don’t you go see what Wesley is up to?” she snorts as she stands and stretches.

“Who’s the smartass now?” Devon snarks, then pauses in surprise at himself. Ariadne just laughs again and leaves shaking her head. Devon’s life is really changing already.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


He has coffee instead of lunch and then finds he’s too shaky to do any drawing or writing, so he gives up. 

Wesley:  _ bored and procrastinating on homework. Wanna do something? _

You:  _ like what? _

_ Shut up, _ Devon tells his brain. 

Wesley:  _ wanna go to the rec center? _

You:  _ the what? _

Wesley:  _ you don’t even know we have one, do you _

You:  _ no? _

Wesley:  _ it’s just a building on the grounds with games and activities and shit. Perks of ridiculously expensive boarding schools _

You:  _ well sure, I think Ari and Jerome are busy tho _

Wesley:  _ that’s okay, you and I can just go _

Devon pauses and stares at his phone. What’s that supposed to mean? No, Wesley is just bored. It’s nothing. He simply knows that Devon is usually alone and has free time, that’s all. 

You:  _ okay, sure. _

Wesley:  _ since you nerdy little self hasn’t even ventured to that side of the grounds I’ll just come by and walk with you there _

You:  _ rude _

Wesley:  _ haha i know _

 

There’s a knock on his door several minutes later, and Devon flies off of his bed to answer it.

“Whoah, bed head,” Wesley laughs, and Devon’s hands immediately shoot up to his head to feel his hair. 

“Dammit,” he curses. “Give me a sec.” He ducks into the bathroom and has to laugh at the mess on his head. His normally wavy hair has decided to curl itself upward, and he has to yank a comb through it. 

“I knew you liked music,” Wesley calls from the bedroom.

“What?” Devon asks, coming out to see him looking at the band posters taped on the wall. “How do you know that those aren’t Zander’s?” 

“Because Zander likes some really weird and obscure hip hop bands and Lady Gaga. I don’t think Arctic Monkeys are really his style.”

“What the hell?” Devon chokes. “Lady Gaga?”

“I don’t even know,” Wesley says. “I mean, her jazz album with Tony Bennett was pretty good.”

“I’m just not gonna ask,” Devon shakes his head at him. “But yeah, I guess there’s some music.”

“30 Seconds To Mars, also a good band,” Wesley says approvingly. “You secretly have some My Chemical Romance and Fall Out Boy posters somewhere, don’t you?”

“Panic! At The Disco, actually,” Devon says, and Wesley bursts out laughing. 

“You’re too much, Dev. Come on, let’s get go.”

“For real, it’s not even emo anymore,” Devon protests as he follows Wesley out of the room and locks the door behind him. Hopefully Zander remembered his key this time. 

“But you secretly love it all?”

“Yeah, I guess. I don’t know, they had this weird hippie Beatles thing going on early on.”

“Well Pete Wentz wouldn’t have signed them if they weren’t weird and didn’t change up their sound randomly,” Wesley says.

“Ha! See? You know what you’re talking about here too.”

“Okay, who didn’t have an awkward cringy emo stage,” Wesley defends himself. “Seriously.”

“I don’t know, I don’t think Zander would have. And I can’t see Jerome going through that stage either.”

“True. Jerome’s always been secretly weird, though,” Wesley says. They exit the building and Devon shivers at the blast of cold air. 

“Besides, Panic and Fall Out Boy were surface emo anyway. They were too well-known to be legit, apparently.”

“Don’t tell Pete Wentz, you’ll break his heart.” Wesley flashes him a grin and Devon feels unbelievably light today.

“Aye aye, cap’n,” he mutters, and Wesley laughs at him. 

“See? Smartass. I was really tired when I said that, okay?”

“Mhmm, whatever you say,” Devon says. He’s really surprised he’s not freaking out right now, panicking after he says something ‘risky’ and apologizing profusely. But it makes Wesley laugh, and he likes that. 

“What am I supposed to do with you?” Wesley sighs. “You’re going to get yourself into trouble someday.”

“Been there, done that,” Devon says, then regrets it.

“I’ll pester you into telling me about that some other time,” Wesley says. “But here we are.”

The building isn’t abnormally large, but Devon still can’t believe there’s a whole recreational center on the grounds of the school. They go inside and it’s still impressive. The only places Devon can really remember are his home, his old school, and now the mall, and he’s immediately overwhelmed by the colours and sounds going on in the building. Marianas High is a surprisingly large school for being so expensive, and on a sunday afternoon the center is just going to be crowded, he supposes. 

“Take a pick,” Wesley says, and Devon just stares. 

“I’m not a big gamer…” he says.

“I used to be,” Wesley tells him, “but not so much the past year or so. How about we stick to bowling instead of the arcade games, then?”

“I haven’t gone bowling in like six years,” Devon laughs, and it’s Wesley’s turn to stare.

“What the hell do you do with your friends?” he asks. “You looked like you’d never seen a mall before, you don’t go bowling…”

Devon shifts uncomfortably. “I...don’t really have friends.”

“Oh.” Wesley looks immediately apologetic. “I meant- I mean, I know you said, but I thought maybe one or two-”

“It’s okay.” Devon shakes it off. “Just not good with people.”

“Well I think that’s bullshit,” Wesley says. “You’ve been just fine here, and I like hanging out with you. Let’s try some bowling, okay? I can teach you. I’m not very good at it either, but it’s fun.”

“Okay.” Devon wonders just what he’s getting himself into, but Wesley looks excited as he starts explaining how it works to him. He remembers the jist of it, it’s a fairly easy game, but he doesn’t tell Wesley because he doesn’t want to interrupt him and he likes seeing him excited. Why is he so  _ weird? _

“Okay, so first you have to pick a size,” Wesley explains once they’re ready to start. “I usually use like...an eleven, I think, but you’re smaller. Here, let me see your hands.”

Devon hesitantly holds a hand out and Wesley holds his own up to it, measuring. They’re both oddly silent for a moment before Wesley coughs.

“Yeah, I’d try maybe like a nine. It varies, though. Ari likes to use bigger ones too, I don’t know why. Probably her violent nature.” He laughs a little oddly, but he seems to be brushing something off, so Devon lets it be. ”You have thin fingers, though.”

Devon tries picking up a couple balls and then just sort of goes with a size without checking it. He’s feeling a little awkward, but it’s not necessarily in a bad way.

“Okay, what now?” he asks Wesley. 

“So you hold it like this,” Wesley tells him, demonstrating the way to hold the ball.

Devon copies his hand position and looks to him for further instruction. “Then you’re gonna hold it up like this, sort of get a walking start, swing it back, and then just...let it loose, like so.” He swings his arm forward and lets the ball roll. It lands with a slight thud and rolls down the lane almost dead center, though it curves toward the end and knocks over all but two bowling pins. “Okay, so we each go twice in a row, so I’ll show you again and then you can try. Sound good?”

Devon nods, so Wesley selects another ball and goes again, knocking over one of the remaining pins. 

“Like I said, I’m not exactly great,” he laughs. 

“I’m sure you’re better than I am,” Devon says, trying to copy how Wesley moved. He releases the ball and watches it slide to the left and into the gutter, missing the bowling pins entirely. “Shit.”

“That’s okay, you’re just starting out,” Wesley encourages. “Here, try again.” 

Devon flushes bright red when Wesley comes to stand behind him and helps position his arms. It’s a cliche move, but this is Wesley, and it can’t be a move at all. He’s just trying to be nice because Devon fucking sucks at this. 

“Okay, now, walk and release,” Wesley instructs. The ball rolls quicker this time and knocks over more than half of the pins, so Devon feels a little better. He moved away from Wesley when he went forward, but he backs up and bumps into him by accident.

“Shit, sorry,” he apologizes. 

“You’re fine,” Wesley assures him, staying there for a moment before suddenly moving away and grabbing one of the bowling balls as the machine brings it back up. “That was much better.”

He flashes Devon a smile before moving forward to send the ball rolling, and Devon suddenly wonders just what he’s gotten himself into. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“You guys look like you had fun,” Ariadne comments as they join the group at their usual table for dinner.

“We went bowling,” Devon explains. “I haven’t gone in a while.”

“He got really good really fast,” Wesley pouts. “Started kicking my ass by like his third turn.”

Ariadne couldn’t possibly be smiling any wider. “We haven’t gone bowling as a group in a while, we should do that soon.”

“It was fun,” Devon agrees.

“You would say that,” Wesley complains, but Devon can tell he’s just teasing. 

“It’s not my fault you tripped,” Devon shoots back.

“That was only in the last turn!” Wesley protests.

“You tripped?” Zander’s cracking up over his soup. 

“One time! It was one time!”

“Still happened, apparently,” Ariadne laughs at him. “You’ll be fine, dear.” She pats his hand condescendingly and Wesley shoots her a fake glare.

Daya slams some books on the table and plops into her seat, stabbing her fork into her food angrily.

“Woah, woah, hey, what’s up?” Ariadne asks. 

“I made friends with a cute guy,” Daya grumbles.

“Hey, at least you know early on, right?” Ariadne reassures her. The rest of the table takes the cue and goes back to eating and carrying on smaller conversations. It seems to be a theme with the group- when a touchy topic comes up, everyone shuts off their ears. They’re that close, Devon guesses. 

“Yeah, true. He’s just really nice.” Daya leans her elbow on the table and rests her head on her fist. “Whatever, I’ll get over it fast. Stupid soulmate system.”

_ Good luck to you, _ Devon thinks, looking over at Wesley. The other boy looks over at him and smiles.

“Eat your food,” he scolds, and Devon startles. He hasn’t heard anyone mention food to him in years. 

“Oh, okay.” He’s jumpy, he needs to calm down. He can’t avoid Wesley’s sudden hawk-like gaze, however, as he forces a piece of chicken into his mouth and struggles to chew and swallow. He’s caught his attention, and he knows if he can’t control it right now he’s never going to get the other boy to ignore it. He’s not sure why he’s so confident of that fact, but he is.

“Who here has actually done their homework already?” Ariadne asks, and half of them groan. Avery actually lifts his head up off the table to roll his eyes.

“Why do you even ask? We all know the only people who do that are Jerome and Daya.”

“I’ve done most of mine,” Devon says, trying to distract Wesley from watching him eat. It makes him more uncomfortable. 

“There,” Ariadne says triumphantly. “And I started on mine.”

“That’s a first,” Jerome teases her, and a laugh goes around the table that Ariadne can’t help but join in on.

“Fine, fine. But really, we should all work on not postponing everything,” she says, and is greeted by a chorus of ‘yes mom’s. 

They break up shortly after that, and Devon doesn’t realize his mistake until Wesley spots him putting a nearly full plate in the dish return. It’s just once. He’ll make it convincing at breakfast. Everyone has times they’re not hungry. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


He forgets. He fucking forgets. He’s dumping another full plate in the dish return Monday morning and he suddenly realizes Wesley isn’t far behind him in line and saw it. 

 

Whatever. He was just sick or something, right? It’s true. He just doesn’t get hungry anymore. He doesn’t need that much food. He’s not short, but he’s not exactly tall either, and he’s always been more wiry. Wesley probably didn’t even notice anyway- or care. Why  _ would  _ he care? So Devon doesn’t eat a lot. Not everyone plays sports and consumes like 2,000 calories a day or whatever “normal” teenage boys do. What’s wrong with Devon consuming a couple hundred? He hasn’t passed out in a while, he’s good. He’s learned how to balance it and he hasn’t gotten around to doing any exercise other than going for a walk in a while. Come to think of it, he really should get back into running, shouldn’t he?

“Hey,” Wesley greets, falling into step with Devon as they head to trig together. 

“Good morning,” Devon greets in return, shifting the bag on his shoulder. It’s too heavy to wear one shouldered but he does anyway because he’s stubborn. And possibly lazy. 

Wesley looks as if he wants to say something, but then he sees Zander coming up and closes his mouth abruptly. Then, “wanna hang out after classes are over? I have soccer practice, but we can meet up after.”

“Sure,” Devon agrees, even though his mind is yelling at him to say no. He  _ really _ shouldn’t. 

“Cool. We can hang in my room if you want, Jerome usually hangs out with Ari after class.”

“Okay,” Devon says, not sure what else to say. He wonders if Wesley wants to say whatever he cut off a moment ago. Hopefully it’s not about the food thing, even though Devon’s sure he can explain it away. He got really good at it until he found out his parents didn’t really care if the excuse was realistic or not. Then he just stopped bothering with explanations. 

“Hey guys,” Zander greets. “So I may or may not have only done like three-quarters of the homework…” he laughs.

“I’m sure you’ll be just fine,” Wesley gripes. “You get everything right anyway, you can afford to get a few marked wrong.”

Zander rolls his eyes. “Sure thing Mr. Soccer Captain.”

“You’re the captain of the soccer team?” Devon asks Wesley.

“Yeah, somehow,” Wesley laughs. “I think it’s cause I’m the loudest so they actually listen.”

Zander huffs. “You’re obnoxious, Wes, I hope you know that.”

“What?”

“He’s really good,” Zander tells Devon. They reach the classroom and find their seats, but Wesley sits with Devon and Zander sits in front of them, turning around to keep the conversation going. “He’s already gotten several full ride scholarship offers from different universities.”

“Seriously?” Devon asks. “How did I not know that?”

Wesley shrugs. “It’s not that important. It’s just sports.”

“Yeah it’s not like anyone in America likes sports or anything,” Zander says sarcastically.

“Maybe if I was captain of the football team,” Wesley jokes.

“True.” Zander laughs. “Now that would be funny. They’d snap you like a twig.”

“Hey, I’m just a lean, mean, fighting machine,” Wesley protests. 

“Nah, just lean,” Jerome leans over to comment.

“I resent that!” Wesley complains, but then Mr. Hoffman walks in and everyone scrambles to pull out their notebooks.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


There’s this weird gap between classes and dinner that Devon never knows how to fill. He’s too mentally drained to start homework, but everyone’s got extracurriculars to do. His schedule is set up so his art and music classes are offset from each other, and he ends up finishing classes before everyone else. He and Ariadne are in art classes together, but his music classes are private, so he’s not in any with her and Jerome. Usually he just flops in bed and stares at the ceiling for a little while, mentally exhausted from being around people and working hard in class, and today is no different until his phone goes off.

Penelope: _ hey _

He sits up suddenly. He hasn’t heard from his sister in a long time. In fact, they’ve hardly spoken since he was thirteen and she was ten. She’s fifteen now and he hardly knows what she looks like except he tries to keep up with her on social media a bit. Why is she texting him now?

You:  _ hey _

Penelope:  _ i know this is a little overdue but i wanted to catch up with you. I know Brandon doesn’t but he’s an asshole anyway _

Devon’s pretty sure Penelope saying “asshole” would give their mother a heart attack, and he finds himself smiling slightly. 

You:  _ that’s okay, what have you been up to lately _

Penelope:  _ well mom finally stopped snooping in my phone all the time so i wanted to get to know you better _

Devon’s heart sinks. His mom was trying to keep them from talking? He shouldn’t be surprised, but it really, really hurts for a second. Then he tries to look on the bright side- maybe Penelope would have tried sooner otherwise. He still wants to know his family. 

You:  _ well I’m glad you texted me. Any soulmate news yet? _

Penelope:  _ no, thankfully. I dont want to deal with that yet _

You:  _ that’s probably smart. What about friends? Hobbies? _

Penelope:  _ I’ve got an interesting group of friends. Mom hates it tho bc they’re mostly guys, but girls just don’t usually like me _

You:  _ haha i can imagine she has fits over that _

Penelope:  _ yeah but i just do it anyway _

You:  _ good for you _

Penelope:  _ and i play softball right now. The girls on the team are ok, but they can be a little overly aggressive, which is coming from someone who’s pretty aggressive _

Devon has to laugh at that. She would be aggressive, after his quiet nature and Brandon’s passive aggressive way of handling  _ everything.  _

You:  _ that’s really cool. And im glad youre aggressive, mom and dad need it _

Penelope:  _ oh i give them a run for their money, you can bet on that ;)  _

Penelope:  _ shit, mom’s calling me. Can i text you later? I dont want to bother you _

You:  _ no, please do. Thank you for texting me, i want to catch up with you at some point _

Penelope:  _ kk cool, text you later x _

Devon sets his phone down and stares at the ceiling for a moment. He’s already having trouble grasping how much his life has changed, and this is just the icing on the cake. It’s a lot to adjust to- talking to his sister, having friends, going out and doing things with people. He wants to enjoy it, he wants to just relax and accept it, but he can’t help but feel as if it’s all going to crash and burn soon.  _ Something _ has got to go wrong, it always does. But for now, what can he do about that? He has to just take what he can get. Normally he would try to withdraw and keep himself from getting hurt, but it’s already going to hurt like hell. He may as well enjoy life for a bit so he has something to hold on to when it all goes wrong. He also may as well get started on some homework before he over thinks hanging out with Wes later.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“Hey Devon,” Jerome greets when Devon knocks on the door of the room he shares with Wesley. “I’m just heading out. See you at breakfast?”

“Yeah, tell Ari I said hi, would you?”

“Sure thing. Wes was just showering, but I think he should be done, so you can just go on in.” Jerome waves at him and then heads on down the stairs, leaving Devon to close the door. He feels suddenly awkward, the room too quiet, so he sits on one of the chairs by a desk and observes his surroundings. There are a few posters on the wall- he guesses the left side of the room is Wesley’s based on the posters of famous soccer players even Devon sort of recognizes. It’s haphazardly kept, but not exactly messy. There’s a shirt sleeve hanging out over a dresser drawer and the bed was obviously made in a hurry, but it’s clean for the most part. Jerome’s side of the room is nearly immaculate; the only things breaking up the clean and bright look are a Star Wars poster and a guitar on a stand by the bed. There are some sheets of paper on his desk with writing scrawled on them and Devon thinks he can make out a few guitar chords, but he decides not to snoop and instead pulls out his phone, hoping it will make him seem less awkward.

Finally the bathroom door opens and he nearly sighs with relief. 

“Hey,” Wesley greets. He’s wearing a plain t-shirt and sweatpants, and his hair is flat on his head and trickling water down his neck. Devon finds himself itching to dry it off as he’s always had this odd pet peeve of feeling wetness on his face or neck, but Wesley seems unaffected by the odd sensation and instead gives him a little wave along with his greeting as he shuts the bathroom door. 

“Hey,” Devon says back, trying to act like he’s not feeling extremely awkward.

“Sorry to leave you alone out here, Jerome ended up leaving sooner than I thought.” Wesley’s finally drying his hair with a towel, and it muffles his voice.

“You’re fine,” Devon shrugs. “I’m used to silence.”

“Good silence or bad?” Wesley asks.

“Both.”

“Well in our group there is no silence,” Wesley laughs. He pulls the towel away and Devon can’t bite back his own laugh even though he tries.

“I’m sorry-” he coughs. “Your- your hair.”

“Oh dammit.” Wesley moves over to check the mirror on the wall by his dresser. His hair is sticking up in every direction all over his head, and he just sighs. “It’s such a pain sometimes, I swear I’m going to shave my head.”

“I like your hair,” Devon says, before biting his cheek hard. What the hell?  _ I like your hair? _

“Well thanks.” Wesley doesn’t seem to notice anything awkward about it. He runs his fingers through it a few times and manages to push it all in one direction away from his face. “I got my mom’s super thick hair, and it’s got a mind of its own.”

“My mom has red hair,” Devon says, though he’s not sure why. Wesley immediately looks interested, though. 

“Well yours has a hint of red in it,” he says, coming over and plopping on the end of his bed, staring at Devon’s hair. “I suppose I could see that. Does your dad have brown hair?”

“Yeah, he does. My sister is blonde, though, but I’m pretty sure she gets it lightened some too. My brother’s a brunette.”

“So you have two siblings?”

“Yeah, both younger.” Devon checks his phone again, but Penelope still hasn’t texted him. 

“Aw, look at you being the role model child,” Wesley laughs. “I’m sure you’re the highest standard for them, what with being such a nerd and so polite.”

“I’m really not,” Devon says. “My parents don’t like me.”

Wesley looks genuinely concerned at that. “Whyever not?”

“I…” Devon pauses. “I just didn’t live up to what they wanted. Maybe I’ll talk about it someday, but I don’t feel up to it right now.”  _ Don’t ask again, because I’ll cave and talk about it. _

“Well, I think they sound stupid. No offense.”

Devon snorts. “No, it’s okay. They’re stupid.” He catches himself checking his phone again and quickly shuts it off and puts it in his pocket.

“Waiting for something?” Wesley asks.

“Yeah, Penelope is supposed to text me soon,” Devon explains. Wesley’s face falls. 

“Penelope?”

“Sorry, yeah, my little sister. I haven’t heard from her in a while and she just texted me today.”

Wesley brightens back up and smiles charmingly at him. “Tell me about her.”

Devon’s taken aback by the question, but Wesley seems to be trying to get to know him, and he’d rather talk about his sister than himself, so he just goes with it. “Well, she’s fifteen, she plays softball, and she’s a very strong personality.” He laughs. “Sounds like my parents don’t know what to do with her. Brandon has always been the golden child, so I’m sure she makes up for it.”

“Brandon is your brother, then?”

“Yeah, he’s a year younger than me. He’s pretty much what my parents wanted me to be.” Devon sighs. He really needs to stop being open with Wesley. He’s not technically telling him all that much, but it’s still more than he should be. And once he starts, he’s afraid he won’t be able to stop. 

“Well, if your parents are stupid and you’re not what they wanted, that’s probably a good thing, don’t you think?” Wesley asks, and Devon shrugs.

“I don’t know.”

“Well, I like you, so they can fuck off.” Wesley gets up to get his towel from the floor and throw it in the laundry bin, so he thankfully misses the red tinge on Devon’s face. He’s digging his own grave right now, and he never should have agreed to hang out, but he finds that he can’t stop himself. He feels good right now. He feels  _ happy _ . It’s been  _ so  _ long, that he finds that even if this all crashes and burns, he’s got to let it be for a little while. 

“So…” Wesley checks his phone and then jumps onto his bed, laying on his stomach and facing Devon again. He props his head in his hands and kicks his feet up. He’s always so energetic, Devon feels as if he can’t keep up. It’s a little infectious, though. 

“So?” Devon raises an eyebrow, pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them.

“Any idea on your soulmate?” Wesley asks, breaking eye contact and fiddling with his phone. Devon freezes up.

“Um. No. Haven’t found them yet.”

“I was gonna say that sucks, but I don’t know if you find that to be a good thing or a bad thing.” Wesley laughs and makes eye contact with him again. Devon’s not quite sure what’s going on. Is Wesley...flirting with him?

No. Wesley wouldn’t want to. Wesley’s really attractive and funny and nice, and Devon is...well, Devon. 

“Just trying not to worry about it right now,” Devon says truthfully, shrugging his shoulders. “How about you? How’s Liza been?”

Wesley drops his face into the mattress and groans. “Oh my god, she’s driving me insane. I don’t know how much longer I can handle this shit.”

“I’m sorry.” Devon looks down at the floor, unsure as to what he should say. “Do you two have anything in common?”

“Well, that we hate each other apparently,” Wesley says. “I think she hates me more than I hate her.”

“Nothing else?”

“I don’t know.” Wesley sighs. “I think the universe fucked up. We’re so horrible for each other. She’s really high maintenance and she hates my friends and she sends screenshots of  _ everything I say  _ to her own friends. Then they all complain about me. I don’t even know what I did to make her hate me, but I guess we’re just too different when it comes down to it.”

“Maybe it’s just not right, then,” Devon says hesitantly. “I’ve seen people who force it to work, and it just...I’d hate to see any of my friends do that.”

“You think- you don’t think it would be bad to just break up with her?” Wesley asks. “Because I know it’s so weird to people when soulmates don’t end up together- but  _ how  _ am I her soulmate? I don’t understand.”

“My parents hate each other,” Devon admits. “They’re soulmates, and they met when they were in college. I don’t think they got along too well back then either, but they must have felt forced into it, because they ended up getting married and having me and my siblings. But I can tell they hate each other. They barely even fight, they just have opposite schedules and don’t look at each other over dinner, which is almost worse. I think they have different bedrooms.”

“I’m sorry,” Wesley says gently, looking concerned again. Devon’s not used to that being directed at him. 

“It’s alright, it happens. I just don’t want to see anyone else get stuck in that,” Devon explains. “I don’t think that being “normal” and following whatever the hell picks soulmates for people is worth being miserable. People hold it up as this amazing thing, and yet all it does is tape together falling apart marriages that aren’t worth the pain. If people want to be together, they should be, regardless of whatever the fucking universe says. And if they don’t want to be together they shouldn’t force it either.” He doesn’t mean to get so worked up, but he can’t help but think about how upset Ariadne gets when she talks about it, about the fucked up system and how she just  _ can’t  _ love Jerome like that, even if she loves him so much as a friend. Wesley’s looking at him with a strange sort of look, but it’s not bad, and he doesn’t think he’s upset the other boy, thankfully. 

“I’ve never seen you talk about something so passionately,” Wesley says after a moment. 

“I’m sorry.” Devon finds himself fidgeting, the anxiety trying to kick in. He does his best to shove it down.

“No, don’t be. I think you’re right, thank you for saying all of that. I really...I really should just break up with her. It’s not worth it, and I thought even if I was unhappy, she’d at least be able to feel normal if I stayed with her, but I know that we’ll both be miserable if we stay together as well, and so I wouldn’t be doing her any favours. I just don’t know what to say to her.”

“Take your time,” Devon advises. “I’m just giving you one piece of advice, maybe you should talk to someone else too, and give it a lot of thought.”

“Oh, I know.” Wesley sighs. “Maybe I should talk to Ari…”

“Yeah, that might be a good idea,” Devon agrees.

“Thanks for the advice,” Wes says. “I’m glad you transferred here.” He’s smiling at Devon, and Devon couldn’t stop himself from smiling back if he wanted to. He doesn’t though.

“Me too,” he says. 


	5. Nightmare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this story is so sporadically posted. I will 100% finish it if it kills me, life has just been crazy. 
> 
> I kept saying "Zoe, no catching feelings EVER AGAIN" so guess what I went and did
> 
> yeah thats right
> 
> I WENT AND CAUGHT FEELINGS KILL ME NOW
> 
>  
> 
> Ahem. I really love feedback, this is my first original story and I'd really like to have any advice you can give- praise, or (more likely) criticisms. :)

Devon’s eyes fly open and he gasps in a breath of air before suddenly shutting his mouth hard as he realizes Zander is still asleep. He tries to quiet down, but his breathing just won’t even out, and he finds himself gripping the sheets tightly. 

_ No one to taint you for anyway.  _

There’s laughter ringing in his ears, and he screws his eyes shut and tries to force it away. Just like the memories. His therapist (and really, a therapist? He’s such a  _ freak _ ) had told him the trauma had caused him to block most of the memories from his mind and that he needed to confront them instead of suppressing them, but he can’t. He just can’t. He’ll break all over again if he does. That’s probably why they never caught them. Because he can’t even remember who did it.

No, he can’t think about it. Not right now, not ever. He needs to stop. He keeps dreaming about it, like the suppressed memories are trying to resurface, but he just pushes it away, forces himself to forget it. He’s not sure how long that will work, but he’s determined to do it as long as he can. He’s not sure if he can cope with the trauma if he remembers...it. Most of what he remembers is pain, bruises...blood.  _ No, push it down, push it down.  _ He’s gone again, he can’t breathe, he’s suffocating in his bed and the blankets feel  _ so heavy, _ and he needs to go, needs to be somewhere else, needs to  _ move- _

He’s outside before he knows it, gasping for even a single real breath as he flies out the door and runs down the sidewalk, cold air hitting him and making it harder to breathe. It’s not that cold out, but it feels like ice on his sweaty skin, and he can’t stop running even though his heart feels as if it’s going to give out.  _ He has to get away, has to outrun them, can’t let them catch him. Faster, faster, faster. _

He loses track of the time that passes as he runs and runs and runs. He feels as if he’s never going to stop, even though his lungs are burning and the tears are blurring his vision to the point of blinding him. He’d run until he died if he could, but finally his weak body gives out and his legs collapse beneath him. The side of his head hits pavement and white flashes behind his eyes, but he hardly notices as the panic rears back and hits him harder, forcing tremors through his entire body. 

It’s a while before he comes out of the attack. He’s drained, dull, and in pain, curled into a pathetic ball on the sidewalk, and he’s not sure he can move. He’s suddenly freezing, though, wearing only sweatpants and a long-sleeved but still thin shirt. He needs to move or get help or- wait, get help?  _ Who is he kidding? _ He’s already fumbling with his phone, though, and he has to force himself to pause when he realizes his finger is hovering over Wesley’s number.  _ He can’t call Wesley, that’s ridiculous.  _ No, he has to help himself. 

He accidentally hits the button as he tries to shut off his phone, though, and he panics all over again, fumbling with the damned electronic and cancelling the call as it tries to go through. No, no, it’s  _ three o’clock in the morning, he can’t call Wesley.  _ The call finally ends and he shuts his phone off entirely, shoving it into his pocket and stumbling to his feet. A drop of blood trickles down the side of his face and he reaches up to touch his right temple, his hand coming away with blood on it.  _ Great. Just fantastic. This is what happens when you act like a child because of a goddamn nightmare.  _ The scrape hurts, but the pain helps him focus as he takes a few tentative steps and finds that he’s shaky but able to walk. 

The shadows seem to taunt him as he slowly and clumsily makes his way back toward his dorm, hugging his own body in an attempt to feel less cold. He’s out of breath and a little dizzy but probably not concussed, so he figures he can find his way back to bed and sleep it off. If he can find his dorm, that is. He’s fairly certain he’s heading in the correct direction, but he’s still struggling to see past the dizziness and his teary eyes. He feels as if he’s waiting for someone to jump out at him, to...hurt him, but if he thinks about it too hard he’ll remember his nightmare and that will lead to him remembering what happened, and he just can’t do that, he can’t relive it- and oh god, he’s panicking again. He can make out the shape of his dorm building, but he can’t keep walking as his eyes fill with tears again and he tries to force down the tremors. He’s so afraid, so afraid of  _ something _ and he never wants to remember what, so instead he finds himself collapsing once again to the ground, screaming inside of his own head.  _ Don’t remember, for god’s sake don’t think about it.  _

_ No one to taint you for anyway. _

_ No one to taint you for anyway. _

_ No one, there’s no one to help him. No one wants to.  _

 

It hasn’t been this bad in a while and he feels as if he’s going to die. His heart just won’t calm down and he’s shaking again. He can’t breathe, all he can manage is gasps for air that die prematurely and hardly empty his lungs enough to fill them again. He’s going to die, he’s going to suffocate. Oh god, this isn’t how he wanted it to happen-

“ _Devon!”_ He hears someone running, then the sharp scrape of gravel as they skid to a stop. “Oh my god- hey, hey, you need to breathe-” 

It’s Wesley. He’s on the ground with him suddenly, pulling him upright in an attempt to stop his shaking. 

“No, no, no, no, no…” Devon feels barely conscious. “I- I can’t-”

“Sh, sh, it’s okay, you don’t need to talk,” Wesley tries to comfort him, though he sounds panicky himself. “I-  _ dammit-  _ I need you to try to breathe with me, okay? Like we tried that first day. I’m going to count and all I need you to do is try to copy my breathing, alright? That’s all, you don’t have to do anything else.” He takes Devon’s hand and puts it against his own chest before taking an exaggerated breath. “Inhale...exhale...come on, you can do it, breathe with me. Inhale...exhale…”

It doesn’t work at first; Devon’s heart is still excruciatingly painful and there’s a stabbing pain in his side. But after a while he manages to breathe in an almost similar fashion and they slowly work it down from there. He can still feel a slight trickle of blood down his face and he knows he must look like a wreck, bleeding and gasping in ragged breaths on the ground at three in the morning. Wesley still looks a little freaked out, but he’s focusing on helping Devon breathe, and Devon doesn’t have the presence of mind to wonder how and why he found him. 

“Good, good, you’re doing great. Do you feel any better?” Wesley asks, and all Devon can do is nod. “Okay, okay. Good. You’re still shaking, are you-” he stops himself and quickly pulls his sweatshirt over his head, handing it to Devon.

“No, I’m fine-” Devon protests, but Wesley just starts wrestling him into it and he gives up, pushing his arms through the sleeves. 

“Let’s go inside, okay? You’ve got some scrapes on your face, we need to clean them.”

“I don’t want to wake anyone else up,” Devon says, feeling too weak to even stand.

“We won’t, there’s a public bathroom on the ground floor of Greyhound, and there should be a first aid kit in there. We won’t bother anyone or make you talk to anyone, alright?”

“A-alright.” Devon shivers again in spite of the sweatshirt, and Wesley stands, offering him a hand. He takes it, and Wesley pulls him up easily, frowning a little.

“Can you walk?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.” Devon takes a step and stumbles. “Maybe not. I’m sorry, I-”

“Shut up, it’s okay,” Wesley scolds, slinging one of Devon’s arms over his shoulders and putting an arm around his waist. He’s gentle, and Devon almost wants to lean in to the touch. He keeps his distance as well as he can instead. 

“How did you find me?” he asks as they make their way back toward Greyhound.

“You called me,” Wesley explains. “But then when I picked up my phone it was too late to answer and when I tried calling you back the call wouldn’t go through.”

“Oh.” Devon’s face is burning. He’s such an idiot. “I called you by accident and then sort of freaked out- I didn’t mean to wake you up or anything.”

“It’s  _ fine, _ ” Wesley stresses the word. “Really. Didn’t I tell you to call or text me any time?”

“But it was three o’clock in the morning,” Devon argues weakly.

“I don’t care,” Wesley says. “I like helping, alright? If you don’t want me to that’s fine, but if for any reason you need or want it, I’m perfectly happy to be here. So get that through that foggy artist brain of yours.”

“Okay,” Devon says, but he doesn’t really believe it. Wesley’s got to be insane or something. No one wants to get out of bed at three o'clock on a school night to coax someone out of a panic attack. “I’m sorry, I’ll try to walk now.”

“Shut up,” Wesley says again. “You weigh next to nothing, I hardly notice a difference. You really ought to put on some weight, actually.”

Some sick, twisted part of Devon’s mind wants to take that as a compliment, think about how Wesley  _ noticed _ , think about how he’s apparently light and small, but that’s just...messed up. He knows it is, but he can’t help it. He decides to say nothing in return in case he says too much. He has a bad tendency to do that with Wesley. 

They make it back inside, Wesley thankfully having remembered his key card, and he helps Devon into the bathroom and lets go, leaning him against the sinks.

“Should be a kit under the sink,” he mutters, seemingly more to himself. Then, to Devon, “hop up there.”

“What?” Devon stares at him like an idiot.

“Well there isn’t exactly anywhere for you to sit, and you look like you’re about to pass out, so you’ll have to sit on the counter by the sink.” Wesley’s already digging through a cabinet under one of the sinks, and Devon is still staring. 

“I don’t think I can- right now, I just-”

Wesley straightens. “Oh, right. Sorry. Here.” And then he’s grabbing him around the waist and lifting him up, setting him on the counter. Devon just stares at him again, closing his mouth when he realizes it’s fallen open. Wesley doesn’t seem to notice, however, as he leans over to open another cabinet. 

“I’m really fine,” Devon says when he’s recovered, “I can just wash off the blood, it’s not that bad.”

Wesley’s head pops up over the edge of the sink, a frown on his face. “You need to properly clean and cover them,” he scolds, finally pulling out the first aid kit and standing up. “Especially that one over your eyebrow, it might need some butterfly bandages. Fortunately I don’t think it needs any stitches, but you really shouldn’t sleep for a while in case you have a minor concussion. Your hands are all scraped up too.” He looks down and frowns as they both realize Devon is digging his nails into the scrapes on his palms. “Hey, stop that.” Wesley sets the kit down and reaches out to uncurl Devon’s fists. He’s left little red crescent marks in the middle of the scrapes, and he curses himself inwardly for being so careless.

“Sorry,” he says, voice a little hoarse. “I didn’t realize I was doing that.”

“How did you not- never mind.” Wesley shakes his head and opens the kit, pulling out a cotton cloth and spraying it with antiseptic cleaner. “This is going to sting a bit, sorry.”  He leans in to wash the blood off of Devon’s face, and closing the distance causes him to move in between Devon’s dangling legs. Devon swallows thickly and closes his eyes, trying to ignore the close proximity. He’s being an idiot. 

He finds himself flinching a little when Wesley starts cleaning one of the deeper scrapes, the uncontrolled pain somehow feeling like it hurts more than when he inflicts it on himself. 

“Sorry,” Wesley says softly. “You’ve got some dirt in there, I don’t want it to get infected.”

“Thanks,” Devon chokes out. There’s a pause, dead silence as Wesley sprays the cloth again and goes back to work, but after a while he finally breaks it. 

“Are you gonna tell me what you were doing outside at three a.m.?” 

“I’d rather not,” Devon says honestly. Wesley doesn’t look surprised.

“I’m not going to try to make you,” he says, “but there must be a reason you called me- even accidentally- and you ought to talk to  _ someone.  _ It’s obviously something that’s bothering you a lot.”

Devon sighs. He’s so reckless in some ways. He’ll even take a razor blade to his own wrist without watching how deep or how far he cuts, and yet for some reason he’s deathly afraid of sharing his secrets. But he stops to look at Wesley, meeting his green eyes for a moment, and finds himself, impossibly, caving for the first time in his life. 

“I had a nightmare,” he says quietly. “I- it’s hard to explain, but it was sort of a memory. So I panicked and- found myself running outside, I guess. I tripped and scraped myself up and then I must have called you while I was having a...a panic attack.” He looks down at his hands, feeling ashamed, but Wesley doesn’t even pause in cleaning his face. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, and Devon looks at him, surprised. 

“For what?”

“That you had to deal with that. Nightmares- nightmares are no fun, especially when there’s a tinge of something real in there. Next time you can call me right away, if you’d like. I honestly won’t mind. I want to help.” He meets Devon’s eyes again, and his stare is so intense Devon has to look away quickly. He’s not used to people making eye contact with him, especially not like  _ that. _ Like they really mean what they say and like they care. 

“Thank you,” he says softly. Wesley just smiles at him before he pulls out some bandages, holding a couple up against the cuts on his face to check the sizes. 

“Yeah, I think I’ll use butterfly bandages on these two, but the rest should be alright.” He unwraps them and gently presses the edge of the cut together before sticking the bandage on it, smoothing it out. He repeats it with the next cut, and Devon finds himself holding his breath. Wesley’s touch is soft, and Devon’s unaccustomed to it. 

“Thank you,” Devon says again. 

“Don’t thank me yet,” Wesley’s eyes crinkle at the corners, “I have to pull the gravel out of your palms. It’s not going to be fun.”

Devon just shrugs. “I’ll be fine.”

Wesley gives him an assessing look and then turns back to the kit, pulling away to look into it but coming back in as he finds a pair of tweezers. Devon almost wants him to stay away. There’s something strange about him being that close, and he thinks he likes it but he also wants desperately to hate it. It’s contradictory and illogical, and it’s upsetting him a bit.

“So you said the nightmare was a memory. Do you need to talk about it?” Wes asks him, taking one of his hands in his own and inspecting it before taking the tweezers and pulling out a few pieces of gravel. Devon flinches again. 

“I don’t really remember it,” Devon says. “They’re...um, suppressed memories, I guess.”

“So you know it’s something that happened to you or that you saw, but you don’t remember what?” Wesley asks, and Devon nods. “Why not?”

“My ther- it was apparently something so bad my mind didn’t want to cope with it and tried to erase it from my memories.”

He doesn’t know why he told Wesley that, but he can’t make eye contact with him now that he’s said it and he sort of wants to run away, except Wesley is being so nice and trying to clean out the scrapes on his hands and he really shouldn’t repay him by panicking and disappearing. Wesley seems to understand the weight of what he’s saying, and the sympathy in his eyes doesn’t feel like the scalding pity and condescension of people that Devon remembers from home. Devon still can’t look at it for too long, though. 

“I’m sorry, “ Wesley says again. “That just sounds hollow, doesn’t it? It’s probably lost its meaning.”

“No, no that means a lot.” Devon feels quick to reassure him because for the first time in years it  _ doesn’t _ sound meaningless, and he wants to cling to that. He’s feeling something right now, and he knows Wesley is being sincere with him. “I...people don’t usually say it with meaning, but it’s nice when they do. I’m alright, though, it’s nothing to be worried about.”

Wesley laughs shortly. “You ran outside and ended up hurting yourself in a panic. I’d say it’s a little worrisome whether you want me to worry or not. And I know, you think you’re not worth it.” Devon’s eyes widen, but Wesley just drops the tweezers and grabs another cotton cloth to clean the scrapes with. “Don’t act surprised, it’s not that hard to see that you aren’t exactly fond of yourself. It’s stupid, because I think you’re pretty great, but it’s also pretty obvious.”

Devon swallows thickly. “I guess it just doesn’t really come up in conversation. I mean, either you’re the only person to notice or it doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it matters,” Wesley says. “Because you  _ are  _ worth worrying about whether you believe it or not, and I’m gonna go ahead and worry anyway. Is that clear?”

Devon bites his lip as tears unexpectedly threaten to well up and fall. He can’t be  _ that  _ pathetic, that hearing that someone cares will make him cry. He’s not a child anymore. “Yeah,” he chokes out. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Wesley smiles. “Alright, you’re all cleaned up, then. I don’t think you need to cover your hands. The scrapes are pretty shallow.”

“Thanks, sorry about...being a pain, I guess.” Devon wishes Wesley would get out of his space already because he’s still liking it a bit too much. He also sort of doesn’t want him to move. 

“There’s no need to thank me,” Wesley smiles. “And you really ought to apologize less. There’s nothing to be sorry for. Just...next time, call me without hanging up and shutting off your phone, alright?” 

Devon just nods, not sure what he’ll actually do. His walls keep breaking down around Wesley but he  _ doesn’t mean it, it just happens.  _ It needs to stop, but he doesn’t want it to. 

“What do you want to do now?” Wesley asks him. “Do you want to go back to bed, or hang out?”

“You should go back to sleep,” Devon says, trying to avoid Wesley’s eyes as the other boy still hasn’t moved. 

“I feel pretty good,” Wesley says. “I can stay up. And actually, you should probably stay up for a bit too, just to make sure your head is fine. We can go sit in the lounge, just for another hour maybe, and then you can go to bed. Sound good?”

“If you’re sure…” Devon hesitates. 

Wesley just rolls his eyes. “I’m sure. Come on.” He finally-  _ finally _ \- backs out of Devon’s space and then offers him a hand, careful not to hurt the scrapes from the gravel as Devon takes it and hops down. The jump makes him dizzy again, and Wesley catches his arm to set him right as he sways. “Easy,” he warns, “we don’t want you to hit your head again, do we?”

Devon just shakes his head dumbly and follows Wesley out of the bathroom and toward the Greyhound lounge. 

 

He has a bad feeling that he’s going to regret all of this.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“No, shhh, they’re so cute,” he hears Ariadne’s voice hissing at someone, and he vaguely registers that he must have fallen asleep at some point. He feels oddly comfortable, even though he’s sitting almost upright, slumped against-  _ Wesley? _

“What are they even doing down here? And good thing it’s Saturday,” Zander’s naturally dry voice says. “Otherwise they’d have missed class. Took us long enough to find them.”

“It’s only ten.” Devon can almost feel Ariadne rolling her eyes.

“We should wake them up,” Jerome says. “They’re probably gonna be feeling that in a while.”

“Ugh, fine.” Ariadne steps closer- Devon can hear her shoes on the floor- and gently touches his arm. “Devon, hey, it’s time to wake up.”

He doesn’t have to fake blinking against the light or the stretch that happens involuntarily as he forces himself upright. His vision is a little blurry, but he registers Ariadne’s face a little too close as she coos at him.

“Aw, your hair’s such a mess. Wesley, hey, Wes, wake up.”

Zander just leans over and smacks the back of Wesley’s head which causes the other boy to shoot upright and then glare blearily at him. 

“Oh shit, did we fall asleep?” he turns to look at Devon and laughs. “You have creases in your face, dude.”

“What are you two doing in here? And- hey, what happened to your face?” Ari asks, peering at him closely again and fussing over his bandages, and for a minute Devon panics.

“Dev sleep walked outside,” Wesley cuts in. “I thought I heard someone close their door but they didn’t come back so I called him after a bit and woke him up. He thinks he might’ve tripped in his sleep, right?”

“Um, yeah.” Devon clears his throat as his morning voice comes out raspy. “I used to sleep walk as a kid but it’s been a while.”

Ariadne frowns. “That’s not good, you could get hurt. More hurt, that is. Maybe you guys should lock your door?”

“I don’t care,” Zander shrugs. “I didn’t even hear you get up.”

“You sleep like the dead,” Jerome rolls his eyes. “You once slept through Ms. Greenfield yelling at you in biology.”

“That was two years ago!” Zander protests.

“Let’s go get breakfast,” Wesley suggests as the other two start bickering, standing and stretching. Devon realizes that he’s still wearing Wesley’s sweatshirt and finds himself flushing red as Ariadne seems to notice as well, giving him a knowing look. She may be adept at reading people, but she’s wrong here. Just wrong. He knows it. 

“Yeah, we haven’t eaten yet,” she says. “Why don’t you two get dressed and then we can go to the dining hall.”

“I’ll just run up real quick,” Devon says, but he finds, to his dismay, that Ari is following him and Wesley as they head up the stairs. She’s loving this, he just knows it. 

“I just want to look over those scrapes,” is Ariadne’s excuse. “I’ve got some first aid training.”

“Wesley did a good job,” Devon protests, and then finds he can’t look at the other boy. They were so close last night, he doesn’t like to think about it. He’s never that close to anyone for that long. Hasn’t been in years. 

“Nah, let Ari check them,” Wesley says. “I’ll see you in a few.” Then he’s gone and they reach Devon and Zander’s room.

“Okay, spill,” Ariadne says, throwing herself on the nearest bed. 

“Spill what,” Devon tries to deflect, grabbing some clothes and hiding himself in the bathroom. He leaves the door open a crack, though, so he can get this conversation over with. 

“You’re wearing his sweatshirt, Dev,” Ariadne is almost audibly rolling her eyes again. “Anything good happen?”

“We were uncomfortably close when he patched me up, does that make you happy?” Devon snarks, but he can’t help but feel a little warm inside at the fact that Ariadne is so invested in what she thinks will make him happy. 

“You’re bad at this,” Ariadne shoots back, laughing slightly. “Okay, be all mysterious, I get it.” She’s not actually offended, though, and Devon’s happy she knows when and how to respect his privacy. 

He changes quickly and then sits by her on the bed. “We’re just friends, Ari.” 

“Mmkay.”

“He has a soulmate.”

“No, he knows a total bitch that the universe thinks he’s supposed to marry.” 

“Still a soulmate.”

“Come on you spoilsport, let’s get breakfast,” she laughs at him again. She’s always laughing, and he likes that. Maybe their conflicting personalities attract each other. Platonically of course- he’s always been rather into boys, hasn’t he? Can that even happen in a world where the soulmate system exists?

It doesn’t matter either way- Wesley has a soulmate, and Devon is, after all, just a Blank. 

  
  



End file.
